Comrades in Arms
by The Unrealist
Summary: With Minsk and Verdun controlled by PAC forces, High Command shifts its attention to the monorail hub in Belgrade, crossing the paths of several very different soldiers. The trials of war will bring them together - and make them Comrades in Arms.
1. Chapter 1: Lonewolf

DISCLAIMER: Battlefield 2142 and all related materials are property of EA. Were they _my _property, the games would be infinitely more awesome and have a storyline a bit like this one. I do not own anything which is taken from 2142. I do own my characters and the imagined technology which I have incorporated into this fic.

An author's note to readers of The Belgrade Patrol: Sorry...I've stopped writing that. It will probably be deleted, because I hate leaving stories unfinished and not able to be finished. I just have no inspiration for that story, so I'm working on this one now. This story is set before The Belgrade Patrol, and will feature some characters from that story, notably my two favourites: Arkadi Malkov and Zhen Choy. This is set during the First Battle of Belgrade alluded to in the opening chapters of TBP.

Anyway. On with the story.

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**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 1: Lonewolf**

_Sidi Abdel Rahman_

_May 23__rd__, 2139_

Nobody understood it, but nobody actually cared, so long as it worked.

Which wasn't to say nobody questioned it.

The man was about thirty, perhaps thirty-five, and had a hard, steel glint in his cold grey eyes. Eyes that had witnessed things which would have chilled the blood of other, weaker, lesser men. His hair, black streaked with grey, was ragged and unkempt, the extent of grooming being done by the man himself, with the uneven slices of a combat knife. His face was gaunt, his mouth perpetually locked in a grim scowl that spoke volumes.

The strangest thing of all, though, was the object on which the entirety of the man's attention was focused on.

The item was a rifle of medium length, average height and significantly greater weight than anything in current production, which made sense, because this rifle was no longer in current production. In fact, most people had never seen one outside of a photograph or video.

In a time when the name would have meant something more than a simple designation, the rifle was known as an AK-47.

Its first production was in 1946. Its current usage, 2139.

And nobody understood why.

Which suited its owner fine, really, an air of mystery about him made his job a lot easier.

Although there were the irritating fellows who seemed to have an issue with his choice of weapon. Like the one talking to him right now.

"I never really understand why you use that thing. It's almost two hundred years old," a curious sounding, Russian-accented voice spoke from somewhere to the man's immediate right.

"For the record, the _rifle _is five years old. The _design_ is precisely one hundred and ninety-three years old, yes," the man half-muttered, half growled. This was the third fellow in that week to ask about the exact same subject. Although this one was slightly different. It took the man some time to realize that the difference lay in the lack of condescending tone.

"I don't understand. After all the advances in modern weaponry, after everything that was a sketch on the drawing board in the 21st century has now come to fruition, after things like the Krylov, you use an AK? Why?"

"Because for a hundred years after this gun was first made, it served in every conflict ever fought. Because it's a proven design that's influenced every firearm ever created up to, including, and going beyond your precious _Krylov._ And because of a few other, select reasons which I'm not about to disclose. Does that satisfy your thirst for knowledge?"

The younger man had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm not like those other fellows who just want to mock you…I actually think it's interesting. Not to mention effective."

The older man looked up so that his cold grey eyes met the clear blue of his companion. "Sorry," he said, an apology being rare from him, "You're just the third one this week asking me about it, and it's only been two days. It gets irritating."

The younger man, a twenty-four year old Russian Lance Corporal Silver, sat down next to the older man. "Where did you get it?" he questioned.

"Had it custom made. I _acquired_ the schematic drawings for it as part of a job," the man replied.

That explanation was something a bit easier to understand. Everybody knew about the man's background.

He wasn't a soldier. The term would have implied that he was a member of a particular country's armed force.

He was a mercenary. A mercenary who, through a variety of deals and agreements, had earned himself a permanent contract working for the Pan Asian Coalition Army. He was paid the equivalent of what a Captain would have earned, but carried no official rank. He was exempt from all Army regulations, as evident in his clothing, his haircut, and of course his weapon of choice.

And here he was, in the Sidi Abdel Rahman Nuclear Power Plant, fighting against the European Union Army.

The battle for control of the place had been intermittent for the better part of three months. European Union presence here was not strong and neither were the Coalition Army's attempts to remove it. Sometimes the mercenary felt like neither side really gave a shit about who had control of the region.

As it stood, control of the southern half of the complex belonged to the PAC, while the EU maintained a firm grip on the northern areas. It seemed as though the two superpowers were content to share the complex.

Or not.

A man wearing the insignia of a Major General strode up the ramp leading to the area where the mercenary, his companion and about five other soldiers were killing time.

"Orders from High Command. For some unfathomable reason they want us to increase the control we have on this area. The western areas seem to be a good place to establish a forward outpost. Air vehicles are ready to transport you there and support you. Dust-off in five," the Commanding Officer told everyone in the room.

The mercenary shouldered his ancient but deadly weapon and addressed the other six men in the room. "You heard the man, people. Let's move."

The men seemed to either respect, or fear the mercenary enough to_move _as soon as the two words had issued from out of his mouth. Before the command had finished echoing around the room, half of them were already suited up, wearing combat armour, NetBat helmets, and wielding slightly more contemporary weaponry.

Soundlessly they made their way towards the hangar bay of their command post, a Type 2, Superior-class PAC Titan. Originally designed for civilian transportation, the revolutionary craft had long since been militarized into a frontline war vehicle impervious to most types of weaponry due to its intelligent energy shielding system.

Arriving at the hangar bay, the group of seven took up places manning the battered BTR-20 Yastreb air transport vehicle. The mercenary himself went to man the left machinegun, while the other six jostled into the pilot, passengers and various other seats.

To add some flair and bravado to the whole affair, the mercenary activated the transport's radio, and muttered "Punch it."

The pilot promptly punched it, and the transport's engines blasted at full power, lifting the vehicle into the air. Tilting the craft forwards slightly, the pilot started it on a westward course.

The occupants not concerned with manning the outer defence machineguns spent the duration of the journey activating and testing their respective equipment and armament. The Support gunner among them, a bulky southeast-Asian of about twenty-eight sitting inside the bay of the transport, meticulously calibrated his Shuko K-80 LMG with the kind of attention one would have expected a sniper to show his rifle. The tall and thin Korean Recon soldier sat in the outer passenger seat, intermittently vanishing and reappearing as he tested his optical camouflage and adjusted the scope on his Lambert Carbine. And the others were no less occupied with their gear, checking sights, ammunition, and working order.

In combat, functional equipment made the difference between success and a military funeral.

The incessant maintenance only stopped five minutes before they were due to reach the drop zone.

The mercenary once again took charge. "Alright, people, prepare to drop!" he roared into the transport radio.

All maintenance and adjustment work ceased as soon as he gave the order. The PAC soldiers made their way to the Assault Pod launch bay located at the back of the transport. Locking themselves into individual pods, they prepared for the order to launch.

Developed in order to solve the problems of easily-spotted parachute jumps, Assault Pods took the concept of airborne vertical entry to a new level. The soldier was encased on all sides by a pod, much like being in the interior of a missile. The pods had hydraulically-assisted launch mechanisms for ground-based launching, or they could simply be propelled by gravity when dropped from the air. The base of the pod had a built-in multilayered shock absorbent design to reduce the potential of causing injury to the soldier. In the case of the PAC Assault Pod design, a hover-drive much like that found on the Nekomata Battle Tank served to slow the pod before impact with the ground. On EU versions, miniature thrusters served the same purpose.

Enclosed in their pods, the soldiers could only see what was directly outside the small viewport, or what lay directly below them on the integrated camera feed. In silence they waited for the order to launch.

The relative silence of their journey was suddenly ended by the rapid_WHOOSH _of anti-aircraft fire streaking through the skies. The pilot banked hard to avoid contact with the deadly projectiles, some of them superheated flak shells and some of them missiles with an EMP payload which would disable his control systems until he could reboot.

Red-hot lead flew towards him, swift and hellish, while EMP exploded around the craft in brilliant flashes of electric blue.

And then the mercenary and his partner in the gunner seat opposite retaliated.

The Yastreb's twin defence machine-guns opened up, sending more hot lead flying downwards in retaliation. The mercenary himself aimed for the Rorsch Kz-27 anti-air flak turrets, sending anti-infantry shells slamming into their thin front armour plating, either shredding the turrets or mutilating the gunners within.

Two of the four anti-aircraft turrets went inactive before the pilot took a hit from an EMP missile.

"God _fucking _damn it!" the pilot barked in Russian, as he frantically keyed in the reboot sequence. The craft began to plummet, and remained powerless for three hour-long seconds before the engines reactivated and the transport started to rise again.

The mercenary took the hint and shouted an order into the radio system. "Everybody jump, _now!_"

And everybody jumped, then.

Four successive shudders resounded through the transport vehicle as the soldiers launched their pods in succession.

The mercenary himself exited the vehicle, albeit with a more retro method. He used a parachute.

Admittedly the parachute was a modern retractable parachute that could be reused indefinitely. It was designed for assaults where the inability to fire while airborne, as was the case with Assault Pods, was a severe limitation, and where the immediate landing impediments of a regular parachute could be dangerous.

The three separate canopies opened up as the mercenary dropped. As soon as the EU soldiers below were within engagement distance, he opened up on them with his AK-47.

The ungodly loud roar of the ancient assault rifle was unlike any small arm that anybody was used to. Its thunderous report spoke of an age where massed infantry fire and intimidation were the driving force behind weapon design. Its recoil was a reminder of an age where soldiers had to contend with their own weapon as well as their enemies.

And the man behind it was a living example that not all soldiers were expendable.

The parachute retracted while the mercenary was about a metre off the ground. Rolling into cover as soon as he touched down, the mercenary pointed his rifle round the corner of a building and sent a ten-round fusillade of bullets in the EU soldiers' general direction.

Satisfied that his teammates were providing enough cover fire after hearing the incessant drone of a Shuko K-80, the mercenary began to climb the stairs on the outer wall of the building. Two flights brought him to the roof.

Hearing his approach, an EU soldier spun around and tried to bring his Baur H-AR to bear-

The mercenary lifted his Kalashnikov to point at the soldier one-handed-

-and the mercenary fired first, spearing the EU soldier with five armour-piercing rounds which ripped through his combat vest and tearing into his flesh. The EU soldier fell off the edge of the building roof, a painful thud announcing his violent collision with the ground below.

Sprinting to the edge of the roof, the mercenary shouldered his AK, this time in a proper firing stance, and proceeded to fire accurate bursts of three shots each at the EU soldiers below. A few fell to his onslaught, but the other Europeans sent such a devastating barrage back at the mercenary that he had to throw himself backwards to avoid being ventilated by the swarm of projectiles zipping past him.

Deciding that the building was no longer a safe vantage point, he retreated back down the stairs. Running over to a low concrete wall, the mercenary found himself sharing cover with another of his teammates.

The man was a stocky-built Russian of thirty, an Assault soldier with a standard issue Krylov FA-37. Despite the bullets chipping away the wall protecting them, they shared a brief exchange.

"How's it going?" from the mercenary, simultaneously reloading his rifle.

"We've got a position and a numerical advantage. They're pinned down over by that AA gun post. Some good suppression fire should be enough to make a good advance on them," the Assault trooper reported.

The mercenary nodded and proceeded to interface with the most advanced technology he used – the NetBat, or Networked Battlefield system. It was a recent development that linked all soldiers of a particular squad by a wireless network. The system could be used to coordinate tactics, give orders, or call for backup, among many other things. The helmets themselves also featured target acquisition and detection systems which worked through walls.

The mercenary triggered the location marker and designated the area surrounding the AA turret, and transmitted the coordinates to the rest of his team. Activating the voice communication channel, he barked "Cover fire, here!"

The acknowledgements came fast, and after waiting for five seconds, the mercenary shouted "NOW!"

The roar of three automatic rifles split the air and a blizzard of bullets pounded the area which the mercenary had designated. Two support gunners, one with the Shuko and another with a more powerful and advanced Ganz HMG alternated firing to keep a constant stream of ammunition in the direction of the EU soldiers, while the Recon soldier added to the storm with his Lambert Carbine.

Under cover of the suppressive fire, the mercenary made his way around the side of the EU, taking advantage of their attention being focused on the barrage of fire that threatened to shred anybody who so much as poked a finger out of cover.

Rounding the corner of the AA bunker, he came across three EU soldiers with their backs turned to him.

Three shots. Three dead men.

Another EU soldier rounded the corner in front of him right in front of his face, and was met with a swift strike from the buttstock of the mercenary's AK to the face. The soldier staggered, and in that moment of defencelessness the mercenary dealt a fatal blow with the other archaic device attached to the muzzle of his rifle.

A bayonet.

Gripping the buttstock at its thinnest point with his right hand, the mercenary thrust the sharp blade of the bayonet into the European's stomach. After twisting the blade and jerking it out of the soldier, the mercenary followed up with an instantly lethal two-handed stab to the throat. Blood spurted out of the EU soldier's punctured jugular vein onto the ground and onto the mercenary's AK, almost like a testament to its wielder's most recent kill.

Three shots whizzed past the mercenary, and he spun around on his heel, dropping to the floor as more bullets streaked towards him. Tracking the fire back to its source, the mercenary primed a fragmentation grenade and tossed it in a high arc towards the direction of his assailant.

A yell in English of "Grenade! Get down!" informed him that his attackers were occupied with saving themselves from the deadly explosives. He used their distraction to pop up out of cover and quickly search for their locations.

He found one of them, a soldier who had dived behind a low concrete roadblock to shield himself from the deadly shrapnel of the grenades. Leaving him in the middle of the road, exposed to every PAC soldier in the immediate area.

All of whom opened fire on him simultaneously and independently. The hapless man was shredded by machinegun fire, punctured by assault rifle bullets, and torn apart by the mercenary's AK at the same time. He must have received well over a hundred gunshot wounds in the final second of his life. A bloody heap that had formerly been human writhed and twisted as bullets raked his flesh, then crumpled to the floor, ripped to pieces.

The two remaining EU were dispatched in equally efficient, though less bloody manners.

The mercenary keyed the command frequency on his communication systems and hailed the General. "Major General, this is the expeditionary force. Area secure, transmitting coordinates."

"_Copy that. Additional airborne reinforcements inbound, ETA in five. We're establishing heavy fortifications at your position,"_the General's voice replied through the helmet's speakers.

"Understood, General. Expeditionary out," the mercenary finished, and clicked off the comm.

He didn't understand the purpose of the previous half hour. There was nothing remotely strategic about the place they'd just stormed, no viable tactical advantage from holding it other than the simple matter of having more terrain than the EU.

Then again, it wasn't upon him to understand. An old maxim came unbidden into the mercenary's head.

_Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die._

He snorted. Doing, fine. That was what his job was, to _do _things which normal soldiers or even Special Forces couldn't. He was paid to _do, _and damn right he would _do, _to the very best of his ability if not more.

But dying?

The mercenary looked towards the sky, out into the sunset.

No way in hell.


	2. Chapter 2: Special Operations

**The Frozen Wastes**

**Chapter 2: Special Operations**

_Minsk_

_September 8__th__, 2139_

The two Type 4 Doragon gunships banked hard in opposite directions, as deadly machinegun fire from the EU MK-1 Titan's topside anti-aircraft guns chased them. A TV-guided missile streaked from each of the Doragons' missile pods, sending two white trails of smoke spiralling towards the Titan's turrets. The pilots expertly guided their missiles towards both of the guns, and blew them up in a shower of hot, twisted metal.

Flight Lieutenant Vasily Kobarov breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the streaks of yellow tracer fire cease. Sending his craft into a turn and dive, he centred his Doragon's targeting reticule on the foremost of the MK-1 Titan's underside-mounted multi-shot cannons. A barrage of six rockets was enough to cause the turret to explode in a similar display as his gunner's TV missile had created from the topside turrets.

From far away, it would have been a spectacular sight. Four Doragon gunships continually harassed the helpless Titan, while six BTR-20 Yastreb air transports hovered further away from the Titan, two streaks of machinegun fire periodically lancing downwards from each transport to impale infantry or small vehicles below.

The EU Titan was visibly battered. Its defence weaponry now destroyed, the soldiers occupying it now stood on the upper decks of the Titan, firing their personal weaponry at the surrounding PAC aircraft in futile gestures of defiance. There were a few SAAW-86 rockets in the exchange, but the PAC pilots had enough skill to avoid them or deploy countermeasures against them.

All the while the Doragon pilots kept firing their quad-barrelled machine guns at the Titan's exterior, cutting down the unfortunate EU personnel attempting in vain to repel their unstoppable onslaught. With each bullet impact and each missile explosion the Titan's energy shields, already weakened from several BLOC-III anti-Titan missiles, sparked and flared.

The cluster of Yastrebs broke apart just then, and through the space they had just occupied flew another anti-Titan missile, right on course for the EU Titan. The missile struck the shield in a flash of bright blue: a tandem charge of EMP and conventional explosive.

This missile proved to be far more than the shield could withstand. It flared brightly for a second in a final blaze of glory, then sparked and dimmed before disappearing completely.

The PAC aircraft pilots responded immediately as though the stages of this kind of assault were hardwired into their memories. Now gunning their engines to full throttle, the Doragons changed their tactics. Instead of hovering nearby and sending a continuous stream of rockets and bullets at the Titan, the now regrouped into a line astern formation and started performing lightning-fast strafing runs against the Titan. While such a tactic resulted in less damage in a given amount of time, it negated the risk of them being shot down.

Meanwhile, the six Yastreb transports began to slowly advance on the Titan, their guns now trained forwards and firing rounds at the Titan whether there were actual targets to hit or not.

Anyone on the ground would have been able to see the two BTR-4 Romanov ground transport APCs which now trundled towards the Titan, and held position almost directly underneath it. Thanks to the efforts of the gunship pilots, they were undisturbed by the EU Titan's underside cannons, which now existed only as scraps of blackened metal.

Far away from the conflict zone, inside a conversely well-shielded and fully armed Type 2 Titan, Brigadier General Hoten Sousuke of the Pan Asian Coalition Armed Forces watched the events of the battle unfold on a viewscreen the size of a wall. With a sense of grim satisfaction he watched the EU Titan's armaments collapse, its shields fail, and its crew massacred. Now he felt the full weight of his power rest upon his shoulders as he knew he only need speak one word and the EU Titan's destruction would be assured.

He grabbed the microphone situated on the control panel in front of the screen and hailed the assault team's commander on it. "This is General Sousuke," he said, his Japanese accent detectable even though he spoke in Russian. General Sousuke deliberated for a while before finishing his transmission.

"Storm the Titan."

There was a slight time lag, on the order of a few milliseconds, between his speaking and the assault commander's receiving of the transmission. But it was only those few milliseconds before a voice replied through the speakers – and in that voice Sousuke could hear the assault commander's anticipation and eagerness.

"Aye, General. At once."

This part of the assault was performed flawlessly too.

The Doragon gunships broke their line astern formation, while the Yastrebs formed into two line-astern formations of three transports each. As they flew steadily towards the Titan in this formation, the Doragons regrouped alongside them, flying as escorts.

The assault commander, a thirty-year old Major Silver named Ivan Zaitsev, keyed the frequency for the team-wide channel and had a two second internal debate with himself. While a simultaneous launch of the assault pods had greater shock effect and allowed a stronger assault, it was more difficult to coordinate and was potentially dangerous. Deciding that the risk was worth the gains, he barked into the microphone "All units, launch pods only on my command."

His entire team confirmed, as of course they would. They knew their place in this assault – it was to follow orders and hopefully claim the glory. Planning and tactics was left to the commander. Ivan Zaitsev felt the weight of his responsibility on his shoulders just as Hoten Sousuke felt his. Zaitsev knew that he held his men's lives in his hands, that his decisions could kill or save a soldier.

He also knew that it was sometimes necessary to do so.

The Yastrebs, flanked by the Doragons, approached the EU Titan, while the Romanovs patiently waited below for the order to launch their Assault Pods.

Ivan Zaitsev waited for the transport pilots to radio in with a ready notice, before he once again activated the comm channel and ordered "Ground teams, launch pods!"

The two Romanov APCs on the ground below suddenly belched forth tall plumes of white smoke which streaked high into the sky. At the tip of each column of smoke was an Assault Pod, carrying a single PAC Special Forces soldier, highly trained Saboteur Recon men armed with Lambert Carbines, RDX DemoPaks and equipped with high-tech active camouflage systems that could render them 90 invisible.

When the ground team reached the peak of their flight, Zaitsev barked into the microphone again. "Air teams, launch pods!"

And four Assault Pods fell from each Yastreb transport to make a total of 32 men storming a single EU Titan. Major Zaitsev himself rode an Assault Pod down onto the upper aft deck of the Titan – he firmly believed that good leaders led their men rather than direct them.

His pod split open to reveal a flurry of activity – individual squad leaders were throwing down beacons to guide the rest of the division to the EU Titan, or otherwise activating SD-8 Accipiter drones, AI-controlled attack robots with twin anti-infantry machine guns.

Major Zaitsev immediately began shouting orders. "Squads Alpha and Bravo, insert through the air vents. Charlie and Delta, take the cargo bay entrances. Everybody shoot on sight – no prisoners! Move!"

And of course the PAC Commandos carried out his commands quickly and efficiently. Alpha and Bravo set to work breaching the air vent covers, while Charlie and Delta teams jumped down to the lower aft decks to begin an assault.

Major Zaitsev, leading Alpha, jumped down into the newly breached air vent. He knew the layout of an EU Titan – scores of them had fallen at his command. Drawing his Lambert Carbine and setting it to automatic, he motioned for the others to follow him.

All of them whipped out small, pistol-grip like objects from their pockets, and pressed buttons on them. Instantly, Alpha squad vanished from sight, concealed by active camouflage systems built into their combat gear. All that might indicate their presence were shimmers in the air like heat blurs. Invisible to anyone not looking closely.

The shimmers made their way towards the air vent located on the port side of the Titan, climbing down one after another. Major Zaitsev, who had elected to remain visible so that he could readily open fire on any hostiles, led them in, his Lambert Carbine always trained forwards.

Zaitsev crawled all the way to the end of the walkway, reaching a window which overlooked the raised portion of the cargo bay. A quick glance showed that the EU were waiting for his team and had taken defensive positions. Activating his NetBat helmet, he relayed a silent command to his team.

_Vent teams, ready grenades. Commence attack on my order._

The acknowledgements came in fast from the leaders of the other three assault squads.

Zaitsev unclipped a FRG-1 grenade from his combat harness, set down his Lambert Carbine, and curled his finger around the pin. Another command to his troops.

_Throw on my command. Go for the support gunners._

More acknowledgements. Zaitsev's finger tensed.

_Throw, now!_

And Zaitsev jerked the pin out of the grenade's body, and hurled it out of the window with a shout of "_Granata!"_

The seven men in the same vent as he was did the same.

The EU personnel looked round wildly, trying to figure out where the grenades were coming from-

-before sixteen successive detonations disoriented them, hurling them across the room, tearing them apart with shrapnel.

Zaitsev picked up his Lambert Carbine and barked an audible command. "All Alpha, drop!"

And Alpha squad instantly jumped down from the vent walkways, ruthlessly cutting down the EU men who tried to repel them. To watch them fight was like watching an orchestra play in symphony: each man fought precisely as he had been trained to, with such a calm, collected outward appearance that this could all have been a training exercise. Their coordination, perfect. Their marksmanship, unfaltering. Their discipline, flawless.

Alpha and Bravo decided to concentrate their efforts on breaching the first of the corridors that lead to the reactor access console. While Charlie covered their backs and Delta cleared the cargo bay, Alpha and Bravo tossed grenades into Corridor 1.

With the explosions as a distraction, two Alpha men – Zaitsev and his second-in-command, whirled into the corridor and unleashed a long burst from their Lambert Carbines, sending a full sixty rounds down the corridor. Any EU exposed were cut to pieces.

Zaitsev sprinted the length of the corridor and came to a low control panel next to a reinforced glass window overlooking the main reactor core. He withdrew an RDX DemoPak remote-detonated explosive pack from his combat harness, and placed it, along with two others just like it, onto the control panel.

Running back to where his teammates were waiting, he withdrew a remote identical to the ones used to operate active camouflage from his pocket. Without pausing for any effect or flair he depressed the large red button on it.

A loud, resounding _BOOM _shook the Titan, closely followed by a computer voice speaking in a language Zaitsev did not understand.

_Warning: Reactor console one destroyed._

Zaitsev supposed it must be an alert to the EU personnel that he had destroyed one of their control panels. He knew that if all four were destroyed, the entryway to the reactor core area would open, allowing his team to enter and sabotage it. It was the whole purpose of their operation.

Now, having destroyed the first console, he found his team locked in a firefight with the EU forces. Lambert Carbines barked as they fired burst after burst of gunfire at the EU, and Bianchi LMGs and SCAR 11s droned as the EU retaliated.

Zaitsev took aim at an EU soldier and shot him in the head. The European dropped like a rock, but his allies noticed and returned fire, forcing the Major to duck back into the corridor.

A look into the cargo bay told him the situation. Five PAC soldiers were down so far, and they occupied the entire lower cargo bay. The upper section was mostly controlled by the EU, who were using the upper reactor core consoles as makeshift pillboxes.

Zaitsev shouted into his radio "Bravo, destroy Console 2. Charlie, cover Bravo. Alpha and Delta, suppressive fire!"

The men responded instantly, Alpha and Charlie breaking their cover and firing a barrage of bullets at the EU with their Lambert Carbines, while the men of Bravo squad hurtled towards the other reactor corridor and cleared it much like Zaitsev had.

Thirty seconds later the EU Titan's female computer voice announced the destruction of Console 2.

Zaitsev switched the frequency to one that had so far gone unused. "Backup team, attack, now!"

And suddenly overwhelming gunfire support came from the vents – not the rattling of Lambert Carbines, but the deep metallic puncture noises of Ganz HMGs and the spluttering noise of Voss L-ARs.

This was their fire support, the unit called in when extra firepower was needed to advance. Comprised of Assault troopers and Support gunners, they were the basic infantry of the Army, untrained for special operations scenarios like this one. But the aid they provided now was invaluable, pushing back the EU forces deeper into the corridors and allowing the Recon soldiers to advance.

In the Command Centre of the EU Titan, Field Marshal Gold Kenneth Taylor was pissed as hell. His first tour of duty as Commanding Officer of a Titan, the _Arc Lightning, _and he was making a right mess of it. Half his crew were dead or severely wounded, and now about sixty PAC soldiers were running around destroying it.

Taylor fought off the wave of despair that threatened to engulf him and strode over to a cabinet against the starboard wall of the Command Centre. From it, he withdrew a P33 Pereira revolver, a Turcotte Rapid SMG, and a light armour vest.

He'd be damned if those PAC bastards were going to blow up his ship.

Back in the cargo bay, Zaitsev's team had managed to breach corridor 3 and destroy its console, and were now using the corridor as a standoff point to trade fire with the EU who were all holed up in corridor 4. His men periodically threw grenades into that corridor, while the backup Assault troops fired PK-74 mini-rockets into it, set on airburst to catch as many EU as possible.

Zaitsev frowned, by rights console 4 should now be destroyed and the squads' combined might be turned on the reactor console. He radioed the backup team and gave them another order:

"Backup team, smoke in corridor 4, now!"

Three cylindrical objects flew into the corridor and bounced around before each one detonated in a cloud of thick, obscuring smoke. Under cover of the cloud, Zaitsev's men all primed grenades, tossed them into the corridor, and waited for the explosions to sound before pivoting into the corridor and unleashing a barrage of gunfire down it.

The final reactor console was destroyed in the same way as the other three.

Kenneth Taylor strode out of the Command Centre, his Turcotte Rapid at the ready. He spotted a PAC soldier attempting to enter the reactor console room and opened up on him, the rounds hitting the soldier's chest and head. With a sense of triumph, Taylor dashed out of the reactor console room back into the corridor access bay – a place where the PAC could not go due to the energy shielding.

Zaitsev's men had congregated outside the breached Reactor Core room, where they were prevented from entering by holed-up EU forces. They were running low on grenades, so an advance was difficult.

Taylor sprinted down the length of corridor 4 with a determined look on his face. He was going to _find _those fucking PAC assholes and was damn well going to _kill _them for what they'd done to his Titan.

Zaitsev stepped back from the side of the breached doorway and primed his last grenade. Tossing as far into the Reactor Core room as he could, he ran back to the corridor 4 entrance way to resupply his ammunition from a support soldier's ammo box.

Taylor rounded the corner that formed the entrance to corridor 4-

-to find himself staring down the barrel of a Lambert Carbine.

Bullets travel faster than sound, but slower than light. Field Marshal Gold Kenneth Taylor saw the Carbine's barrel flash, but never heard the shot before a bullet penetrated his skull and tore the life from his body.

Zaitsev lowered the Carbine and a cold smile formed on his lips. He'd shot the Commander. He'd cut off the head of the serpent, and now they were going to blow the rest of the serpent up. He reached down and grabbed the dead Field Marshal's dog tags, and slipped them into his pocket. Ordinarily this practice was only done when you managed to kill your enemy in hand-to-hand combat, but there was an exception involved with high-ranking officials and command staff.

He tossed his nearly-empty Lambert Carbine away and picked up a SCAR 11 assault rifle from a nearby EU soldier's corpse. He spent a minute searching the dead man for ammunition, finding six extra magazines, all full. He took another minute to familiarize himself with the weapon, locating all its components and functions.

Zaitsev retreated to the lower section of the cargo bay and shouldered the weapon. From this far behind, he had a clear shot into the Reactor Core room, so he engaged the rocket mode on the SCAR and – after a warning to his teammates to clear his line of fire – fired three successive shots into the Core room.

The yells of EU soldiers told him that his tactic had succeeded, so he dashed back to the upper deck where his teammates were holding up, and formulated a room clearing tactic similar to what they had used to clear out the corridor defenders.

Everybody – not just the Recon personnel, but the Assault and Support men as well – sprang into full view and let rip with their weapon. Lambert Carbines, Voss Light Assault Rifles and Ganz Heavy Machineguns boomed as they saturated the Reactor Core room with gunfire.

At the end of the onslaught, not a single EU soldier moved.

Now, this was the part that had to be done carefully. Or at least, with slightly more care than the previous stages.

Zaitsev and the roughly twenty remaining Recon personnel slung their Carbines while the Assault and Support troops, of which fifteen remained, kept their weapons trained on any possible areas where EU soldiers might appear from. Zaitsev and his men unloaded their entire remaining supply RDX explosive onto the floor, and began to affix each pack to the central Reactor Core. In total they placed about forty DemoPaks onto the Core – the rest had been used either for destroying consoles, breaching doors, clearing barricades, or simply as makeshift grenades.

"Clear the core!" Zaitsev roared, and every man sprinted out of the Core room.

When they were clear, all taking cover inside corridor 4, Zaitsev withdrew his detonator remote and three other Recons did the same.

"Detonate on my count," Zaitsev instructed, and the three others nodded. "Three…two…one…_detonate!"_

The four of them pressed their buttons in unison while the other men covered their ears.

A blinding white flash and a deafening thunderclap erupted from the Reactor Core room, followed by a stream of broken glass pieces as the reinforced windows shattered from the force of the explosion.

The room went silent.

Zaitsev looked confused…by rights that should have destabilized the core so much that it would go critical and destroy itself, but nothing seemed to be happening…no alarm…no internal explosions…

"Did that do it, Major?" his second-in-command asked, confused.

Zaitsev was about to answer when a voice from the rear cargo bay roared "Clear the line!"

Zaitsev and everybody else dropped to the ground instinctively, as from the aft cargo bay there came a loud _thump _noise followed by a _whoosh._

A high-velocity anti-tank round streaked over their heads and slammed into the Reactor Core.

A loud klaxon started sounding.

Zaitsev looked up to see who had fired the shot-

"Kobarov!?" he shouted, "What the hell are you doing?"

It was indeed Flight Lieutenant Vasily Kobarov who stood in the aft cargo deck, hefting a Pilum Heavy Anti Vehicle Rifle, looking rather ragged as his flight suit had been scorched.

"My gunship was hit by AA fire, so I bailed over the Titan. My gunner's flying it back for repairs," Kobarov explained, dumping the Pilum H-AVR on the ground, "Now I suggest everybody hurry up and _move _before this thing blows!"

Vasily and the rest of the attack team seemed to realize where they were and began a mad dash towards the exits as deep, resounding booms travelled through the Titan's hull walls.. On the lower aft deck, four of the six BTR-4 Yastrebs waited to extract the attack team from the Titan. They were promptly loaded to full, and took off, leaving about twenty of the attack force without a space in the transports, among them Zaitsev and Kobarov.

"Alright, people! Time to jump!" Zaitsev barked, and sprinted to the edge of the Titan before flinging himself off.

Kobarov and the other remaining attack force personnel followed suit, taking care to leave space between them and the jumper closest to them. In the sprint to the edge a few PAC soldiers were caught unawares by explosions of components under or inside the aft deck structure.

Of the nineteen that had had to jump, sixteen made it off safely.

On the ground, transport had been waiting in the form of the two Romanov APCs, as well as six UAZ-8 Ocelot Fast Attack Vehicles. The attack force personnel quickly piled into the transports, with Zaitsev and Kobarov taking the gunner and passenger seats of one of the FAVs.

As the ground transports sped off, several things happened onboard the doomed Titan _Arc Lightning._

A circuit breaker exploded in close proximity to the ammunition storage, setting off the explosive inside the cannon shells.

The Reactor Core coolant circuits failed, their supply lines cut by blasts. The Core, already going critical having been severely damaged, began to overheat.

A shield generator underneath the door to corridor 4 exploded, engulfing Field Marshal Kenneth Taylor's body.

The Reactor Core, normally having a bright blue column of energy in the middle of it, went black.

And then exploded outwards in a flash of pure white light and a corona of flame.

As the PAC vehicles sped away from it, _Arc Lightning _began to plummet.

Brigadier General Hoten Sousuke collapsed back into his chair as the symbol indicating the EU Titan's position vanished from his viewscreen. He let out a long breath in relief.

Despite the fact that this was an isolated event, Sousuke knew that every event that happened in a battle affected the bigger picture. Sousuke had been in charge of operations in the city of Minsk for the better part of six months. He knew that the destruction of _Arc Lightning _put the Coalition Army's advantage in number of Titans up to five versus the EU's now three. Sousuke also knew that reinforcements comprising another two Titans were on their way to support the PAC at Minsk, arriving within three days. And Sousuke knew that with seven Titans to combat three, unless the EU received heavy backup in the next week, that he would have enough personnel at his command to destroy one EU Titan every day.

Sousuke knew, in all likelihood, that Minsk would be theirs.


	3. Chapter 3: Inside Job

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 3: Inside Job**

_Verdun_

_November 26__th__, 2139_

Lieutenant Colonel Gold Robert James Shepherd had no relation whatsoever to the man who'd invented the European Union Army's general-purpose air transport vehicle. He was, however, a senior officer in the EU's premiere infantry combat unit, the famed and feared Hell Brigade. This fact he prided himself in, and as a result his dress uniform was immaculate, his rank plaques polished until he could have used them as a spotting-mirror.

The Lieutenant Colonel was well respected within the elite Hell Brigade, owing in no small part to his above-impressive kill record. However, within Hell Brigade circles, 'respected' was not exactly a synonym of 'liked'. Shepherd had very few actual friends within the unit, very few people who would actually throw themselves into an orbital strike to zap his fallen body with a defibrillator.

He approached the door of the Hell Brigade outpost command centre where he was based. Shepherd, like any good patriotic soldier, preferred to be closer to the front lines of combat, where there were the most enemies ripe for the killing. And, like any senior officer, he preferred to fight his battles from inside a nice, safe, heavily fortified bunker where trivial things like the bullets of a Krylov FA-37 could be ignored, and greater focus placed on the more important matters of orbital strikes and UAVs.

The bored guard outside the command post's door snapped to attention as he realized that a man he didn't really like but had to pretend to anyway was approaching. He saluted, nodded respectfully, and said, in English but with a German-accented voice,

"Lieutenant Colonel Shepherd. Sir."

The Lieutenant Colonel failed to notice the guard rolling his eyes due to the latter's reflective visor, but ignorance was, as people said in the previous century, bliss. He returned the greeting, and the guard, formalities completed, stood at ease.

"How's the fight going?" he asked, more because he was actually interested than because he enjoyed talking to the officer.

"Bloody Pancakes. Bastards took out a whole squad of our Tigers yesterday. I swear, some of the soldiers here don't deserve to be Hell Brigade from the way I've seen them fight…"

The guard purposely made his eyelids droop as the Lieutenant Colonel continued with his long lamentations of the supposed incompetence of his comrades. Again, the reflective visor ensured that Shepherd remained in ignorance.

"…anyway, I've got to get to my duty post. Keep an eye out," Shepherd finished, stepping away from the guard and through the open doorway, into the warm interior of the building.

Shepherd didn't register the fact that the guard had followed him in, and had barely taken five steps into the corridor when a combat knife punctured the flesh below his left ear and was dragged across his throat all the way to the opposite ear, causing him to gasp and gurgle in horror as his blood pooled out onto both the floor and the sleeve of the guard.

Shepherd tried to scream, he really did. The most he actually managed to achieve was a kind of pathetic, terrified whimpering noise, partly due to the fact that his carotid arteries had been severed and partly because the guard's hand was clamped firmly over his mouth. Lieutenant Colonel Gold Robert James Shepherd died in the vice-like grip of a man who, as far he was concerned, had turned traitor. It was somewhat ironic that despite Shepherd's indisputable tactical brilliance, his last thought turned out to be grossly incorrect.

The guard had not turned traitor to the EU. He had been one right from the beginning.

"Goodnight, Lieutenant Colonel," his assassin whispered mockingly into his ear, only without the German accent, and in Russian instead of English. He released his grip from the former Lieutenant Colonel Gold, who slumped to the ground. The killer caught a sharp, unpleasant smell and realized that Shepherd's final act had been to urinate in his pants. Disgusted, he nudged the corpse away with his foot. Then, rerouting the helmet's communication systems to contact his own commander, he spoke in Russian.

"This is Kosarkov. Target is down," he muttered.

"Excellent work, Private. Proceed with the mission, and hide the body," a Japanese-sounding voice replied, again in Russian, through the speakers of the helmet. The assassin – Kosarkov – acknowledged the new order and shut off the communications link.

He looked down and saw a small object on the ground. Kneeling, he picked it up and realized that his knife had severed the metal chain on which Shepherd had worn his dog tags, allowing said tags to drop onto the floor. With a grim sense of accomplishment he picked up the tags – for both personal satisfaction as well as to prove to his Commander that he had in fact managed to assassinate the Colonel – before hoisting the corpse underneath its armpits and dragging it into a nearby store closet.

Kosarkov had one last order to carry out before returning to the base. He pulled out an object which looked like the handgrip of a pistol from his pocket, and depressed a button on it with his thumb. Instantly, Kosarkov's body vanished from human sight, the only things that might give away his presence being a high-pitched electronic hum around him, and a slight distortion in the air where he stood, almost like a heat shimmer.

His footsteps speedy but silent, he made his way onto the roof of the building that served as the Hell Brigade's command post in Verdun. After slitting a guard's throat and shoving his dead body off the roof, Kosarkov disengaged his camouflage unit and turned to the slowly revolving object behind him. It looked like a satellite dish, and indeed it was. Its purpose was to communicate with the aerial satellite that the EU were using to keep track of the Coalition Army's movements.

Of course, having the EU able to track the location of everybody and everything in the city could get rather problematic when trying to orchestrate sabotage manoeuvres like the one Kosarkov was now performing. He had only made it this far by pretending to be an actual Hell Brigade soldier, right down to the electronic Friend-or-Foe tags in his uniform. For all intents and purposes, his own team's electronic ID systems, such as those in automated sentry turrets and antipersonnel mines, would consider him an enemy – and react accordingly.

In short, the dish caused a rather serious problem for the Coalition Army soldiers in Verdun.

Which was exactly why Kosarkov was now tasked with blowing the damn dish to a thousand pieces.

He pulled an object out of his backpack. It had the appearance of three cylinders, joined together side-by-side with a rectangular shaped block of electronic circuitry. It was an RDX DemoPak, a small but potent package of remotely-detonated plastic explosive. One was enough to destroy a Fast Attack Vehicle, while three could bring down even a Battlewalker.

Kosarkov fished three of these objects out of his pack, and placed them on the dish in areas where he knew they would cause the most damage – one on the front of the dish itself, another on the part where the revolving dish joined the stationary base, and a final DemoPak on the power generator.

He did not press the button on the detonator remote – yet. There were a few other things he needed to condemn to destruction before drawing anybody's attention with loud bangs and bright flashes. He again withdrew the cloaking device from his pocket and engaged it before breaking out in a sprint towards the edge of the building and leaping off.

He allowed himself three seconds of freefall before yanking sharply on the ripcord which deployed his parachute. Nobody noticed him – the cloaking device, or to use its proper name, the IT-33 Optical Camouflage – shielded even the parachute from human eyes.

He hit the ground, his knees buckling to absorb the impact just as he had been trained, and his parachute automatically folded and withdrew into his backpack just as it had been designed to. Over to his right was another object that warranted his demolitions expertise.

This one was a low but wide rectangular base, with three long, cylindrical objects extending vertically upwards from what looked like a firing rack on it. Kosarkov knew, as did everybody in this war, what the object was. It was an Orbital Strike control unit. One missile – for that was what the long cylinders truthfully were – could split into many high-explosive shells, creating a localized but devastating aerial bombardment that could last up to twenty seconds.

Again Kosarkov used three DemoPaks in the sabotage of this object, locking one Pak on each missile tube. Three was plenty, the explosives within the missiles themselves would also contribute to their own destruction, but Kosarkov liked being thorough in his work.

Still he did not push the detonator button. There were more things that required destruction. Specifically, a garage containing five A8 Tiger tanks not five hundred metres from where he now stood. He realized that he must work quickly – the longer he left his explosives, the more chance that they would be detected, despite his efforts to hide them in places where they would do significant damage but where a passing glance would miss them. Yet there was no other way to do the job – had he detonated the ones on the Sat-Track dish immediately after planting them, the resulting high alert which would have gone up would make it impossible to plant any more explosives.

He jumped into a Fast Attack Vehicle – a European Union MK-15 Bandit – and drove to the garage rather than waste time walking. He parked the vehicle inside the garage near one of the Tiger tanks and set to work.

An ordinary Recon soldier would have run out of DemoPaks by now, as most only carried five. However, Kosarkov was not an ordinary Recon soldier who was fighting as well as doing his sabotage work. He had forfeited the advantage of carrying a rifle – in his case, it would have been a Lambert Carbine – in favour of being able to carry a total of twenty RDX DemoPaks. He was not, however, completely unarmed – he had, in the sidearm holster of the guard whose uniform he had taken, a P33 Pereira revolver which held eight rounds per magazine, as well as his standard-issue BJ-2 combat knife.

He moved quietly among the tanks, crawling under each and every one of them in order to plant exactly two – no more, no less – DemoPaks on their weakly-armoured undersides. He had sabotaged three of the five tanks there when he froze, still underneath the third one. There were footsteps inside the garage, judging by their frequency, two people. And they were talking.

"The Lieutenant Colonel hasn't shown up yet. It's not like him," said the first one, in English but with an Italian accent.

"So what?" his partner rebutted. This other soldier also spoke in English – as all EU soldiers did – but with a French accent. "You actually _want _to spend more time in his company?"

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing that he's late, but it doesn't seem right," the Italian accented voice replied.

"He's bound to show up. Don't worry about it," the French accented voice assured. More footsteps which gradually faded away. Kosarkov let out a breath in relief, and waited a minute before slowly crawling out from underneath the tank.

He finished work on the last two tanks, and then hopped back into the Bandit FAV. He had four more DemoPaks left, so he planted them on yet another of the EU Commander's assets – this one the control dish for their EMP strike. Much like the Sat-Track dish, this one also communicated with a satellite. Unlike the Sat-Track, however, that satellite housed an EMP cannon which fired a warhead containing an electromagnetic payload which, upon its detonation, would disable for a short period all vehicles and electronic systems within its area of effect. Four DemoPaks was more than enough to destroy it regardless of where he put them, so he was indiscriminate in selecting their locations.

After putting considerable distance between himself and the outpost, he removed the detonator remote from his pocket. It was physically identical to the remote which operated his IT-33 Optical Camouflage, but the LCD display on it instead had a counter to show how many DemoPaks he had placed.

He crouched behind the Bandit to shield himself from any debris.

And then he pressed the button.

For half a second, nothing happened. Then he saw it – a flash of bright light as three huge, separate clouds of orange flame burst upwards. The explosions were silent for a fraction of a second, and _then _he heard the noise, a massive, resounding thunderclap of a boom that threatened to bring down the very skies and rend the heavens asunder.

Flaming pieces of satellite dish, tank and missile flew in every possible direction. EU soldiers streamed out of the doorways, shouting frantically to each other, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Kosarkov was already in the FAV, its wheels barely touching the ground as he revved it for all it was worth away from the carnage. He spotted a confused EU soldier in the middle of the road, ran him down, and kept speeding away towards his own Command Post.

He activated the helmet communications utility and spoke to his commander.

"This is Kosarkov, mission accomplished. Returning to base now, I'm inside a captured FAV," he said.

"Copy that, excellent work Private," the Japanese-sounding voice replied.

He weaved through formations of friendly tanks, tore between the legs of Battlewalkers and sped around piles of smoking rubble until he reached the other side of Verdun.

He was greeted by a round of applause from all the soldiers there as he stepped out of the Bandit, physically exhausted but with a clear, focused mind. One figure strode through the crowd of soldiers congratulating him.

"Excellent work, Private Kosarkov, excellent work indeed," he said – the same Japanese accented voice whom Kosarkov had earlier been communicating with.

"Thank you, General Takiguchi," he panted, out of breath from the intense drive back.

"Get some rest while I deliver the news to High Command…I wouldn't be surprised if you've earned yourself some kind of promotion for this…"

Kosarkov heard it all, but it didn't quite register with him as he staggered away to the dormitory for a well-deserved rest.


	4. Chapter 4: The Regular Infantry

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 4: The Regular Infantry**

_Belgrade_

_December 31__st__, 2139_

The New Year was generally celebrated with a combination of partying, food and fireworks. Of those three, Arkadi Malkov and the rest of Alpha squad could claim to currently have two and be assured the last one.

As Malkov kept the EU forces pinned down behind their makeshift rubble barricade, the Engineer assigned to his squad fired his SAAW 86 Anti-Aircraft missile launcher twice at a UD-12 Shepherd air transport. Both missiles struck the transport dead on, and the whole craft exploded in midair.

Fireworks: Check.

The whole operation so far had been a piece of cake. The EU presence, while incredibly strong in the northern end of the city, became remarkably weaker as one came closer and closer to the middle area. In the south, the PAC occupation forces were heavily fortified, locking Belgrade into something of a standoff.

Now, however, Sergeant Arkadi Malkov and Alpha squad were in the process of taking over a vital communications facility located in the middle sector of the city. And it was proving to be incredibly easy given the aforementioned facility's proximity to an EU outpost. Then again, they _had _been ordering that outpost attacked by orbital strikes very frequently for the past day.

Which now meant that the assault on the facility may as well have been a live-fire training exercise. It was even turning out to be a damn _enjoyable _affair.

Partying: Check.

As for the final criteria for an enjoyable New Year, thanks to Field Commissar Silver Zhen Choy's lax, don't-give-a-shit attitude towards military protocols, Alpha squad and for that matter his entire personnel list, were assured a lavish feast comprising of, among other things, a roast turkey and pudding.

Food: Check.

The four Alpha squad members, with Malkov at their head, charged into the communications facility main entrance. Here was where their superior close-quarters firepower came into play: one of Alpha's men was a Support soldier with a gas-operated, semi-automatic Clark 15B shotgun.

The Support man, a tall, bearded Russian by the name of Yuri Tarkov, employed his shotgun without any discrimination. Tarkov was the quintessential big man of a squad: tall, burly, and possessing a very loud, very lethal weapon. In combat, Tarkov was very much like the symbol of his country; he fought like a bear. He punched, kicked, bodyslammed and headbutted his way to victory, leaving every enemy in his path with at least three broken bones.

Tarkov took point with his shotgun while the team's second Assault soldier, a medic by the name of Kasudo Hatusa, followed close behind with his Voss L-AR held in a loose grip. In such tight quarters manoeuvrability was of greater importance than accuracy. Behind him, Arkadi Malkov kept his Krylov FA-37 trained over their shoulders, ready to provide cover fire. And bringing up the rear was the man more dedicated to suppressive fire: Alpha squad's cover fire Support soldier, Arisako Kasugai with his heavy and powerful Ganz HMG.

The four soldiers wove their way through the corridors of the communications facility, blindfiring and throwing grenades around corners to clear resistance. Despite their commanding officer's less than strict attitude towards discipline, Malkov and the rest of Alpha were highly trained – as highly as regular infantry could be – combatants. They moved through the facility eliminating everybody in their path. Anyone who could have watched them would have noticed that they all complemented each other perfectly – as though they could read each others' minds in combat. And indeed, Malkov shared a bond with his squad on a deeper level than simply fellow soldiers.

When they had arrived in Belgrade, their first taste of actual, proper combat, they had been allies. But over the past three months, after going through every imaginable situation, facing the greatest overwhelming odds together, they had become brothers. And all the other squads – who had been through far less than Alpha – could never claim that.

Malkov engaged his helmet communications, setting it to the control base frequency, and barked out a situation update.

"Field Commissar Choy, this is Malkov. Area secure, establishing perimeter. Requesting reinforcements to setup outpost base and transport back to Comcentral." Comcentral, of course, referred to their command post from which the operations in this sector of Belgrade were conducted, a Standard-class Titan called the _Kastav IV._

The cheerful, upbeat voice of Field Commissar Choy filtered back through the speakers. "Damn good job, Arkadi. We're sending reinforcement double quick. Hold position until they arrive, then a transport will bring you back here for some turkey."

Malkov, despite being a professional soldier, smiled in anticipation of the hearty meal which awaited him.

Several minutes later a fleet of BTR-20 Yastreb transport aircraft touched down near the outpost base. Groups of soldiers began dismounting and setting up fortifications which would help them to hold the comm tower as an outpost: barricades, Rorsch MK-S8 railgun turrets and various other types of tactical equipment.

For his part, Arkadi Malkov staggered to the nearest transport along with the rest of his squad. The pilots had apparently been told what to do, as they took off as soon as the fourth man, Arisako Kasugai, had stepped on board.

The transport ride was uneventful and lasted a matter of minutes. This far into PAC territory there was really no enemy presence worth mentioning. After five minutes they caught a glimpse of the command post.

Pan Asian Coalition Army Titan 205-232700. _Kastav IV._

As a Standard-class Titan, it was very basic in terms of firepower, lacking the armaments of the higher classes. But the Kastav was comparatively much faster and more manoeuvrable, making it better suited to the urban combat of Belgrade where armaments like broadside railguns and missile launcher pods counted for little in terms of air-to-ground engagements. And the weaponry the _Kastav _did possess was constantly kept in optimal working order by the diligent – some would even say zealous – team of skilled Engineers.

The transport passed through the energy shielding of the Titan's hangar bay, touching down on the deck. As the four Alpha men climbed out of their seats, a group of Engineers descended on the Yastreb wielding DysTek Repair Tools or dragging fuel pumps with them to repair, rearm and refuel the craft. Pausing to return the greetings offered to them by the weapons console personnel, Alpha squad made their way down the ramps into the Titan's interior.

The interior of the _Kastav _was blissfully warm, in contrast to the slightly-above-room-temperature of the hangar and the sub-zero temperatures of the outside world. Individually, the members of Alpha squad now made their way to the individual dormitories located on the lowest level of the Titan, underneath the Reactor Core. After depositing their gear in their rooms and changing into clothes more suited for the upcoming celebrations, they each made their way to the Command Centre of the Titan, located opposite the Reactor Core.

Opening the door revealed a sight which would have caused many PAC officials to recoil in shock, but which never fazed any of the _Kastav's _personnel. Field Commissar Silver Zhen Choy, a tall Chinese man in his early forties with a shaggy mop of black hair and a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Bloody good job over there, Arkadi. Now that we have that comm tower, we can reprogram it to broadcast a jamming frequency. Should screw those Europeans over for a good few weeks," he chuckled.

"So we didn't need it for _our _comm networks?" Malkov asked, looking slightly confused.

"Well, that too. And also the fact that it's on a hill and therefore easily defensible as well as an excellent vantage point for a railgun or two to fuck with their ground vehicles," Choy replied, his grin widening as he continued, "See, even the lowly Field Commissar knows his tactics."

"And to keep those tactics hidden from the grunts?" Malkov shot back. Under anybody else the remark would have earned him a punishment for insubordination, but Choy had never been one to throw his weight as a Field Commissar around. Soldiers could talk to Choy like a friend more than as a superior officer.

Choy released a snort of laughter and ducked his face down underneath the level of his desk. "All right, all right, you win. Now let's go eat something, watching your _thrilling _antics down there on this Titan's WideVision screen made me hungry."

"Which isn't saying much, is it, F-C?"

"Shut it, Arkadi. But that reminds me, I need to give those Echo boys another run soon."

This time Malkov broke into hysterics and had to grab onto a railing for support. Everybody knew what the deal between Choy and Echo squad was. Put simply, Echo was Choy's bitch of a squad, as he sent them on the most pointless but generally hilarious 'missions' available. Generally, Echo acted as what _Kastav's _other crewmen referred to as 'food-flyers', because in almost every operation they had ever performed, there was always some involvement of consumable items. The most infamous of these events being the time when they had been sent to clear out a supposed EU outpost. Upon arriving, the outpost had not only been a) deserted, but also b) half bombed to ruins, but more interestingly c) possessing a warehouse which was d) full of whole, deep frozen lamb carcasses. Predictably enough, Choy's order to them had been to "secure the packages". Which had resulted in incredibly full stomachs for the _Kastav _personnel for a good month after that.

And this continued, with Echo seeming to always have the luck to intercept or come across some storage or shipment of food which Choy consistently ordered them to bring back to the Kastav. The latest one had been a convoy of EU vehicles they had intercepted, the third truck containing no less than twenty whole frozen turkeys – presumably Christmas dinner for the EU which was not only late but now would never arrive.

And which was now being used to throw a hell of a good party for the crew of _Kastav IV._

Walking into the cargo bay of the Titan, they saw that the party was already going at full steam. The usual haphazard placement of supply crates full of combat-related materiel had been reorganised into makeshift tables and chairs, on which plates of food had been laid out neatly in a buffet-style arrangement. Actual chairs and tables were lined up in rows towards the port section of the cargo bay, where several soldiers dressed in non-combat gear were busy eating, drinking, and socializing.

Most surprisingly, several people who were not _Kastav _crewmen were present – Choy later revealed that he had invited a few others to the Titan as a way of celebrating the New Year. Even more surprisingly, Brigadier General Nobu Sasaki, Commander of Operations in Belgrade, was present at the head of the largest table, looking quite unlike what anybody would have suspected from a man who had such great responsibility in the Army. But here he was, drinking champagne and laughing at a joke cracked by a Private sitting to his right. When questioned about his presence he would always reply "I'll be damned if those Europeans aren't doing something like this. It's the New Year."

Spotting the rest of Alpha, Arkadi strolled over to the table they were sat at, returning greetings from those who spotted him. Alpha had saved him a seat at the head of their small table, a seat he gratefully accepted.

"Good turnout, isn't it?" Kasudo Hatusa began, while cutting a piece of turkey to eat.

"Damn well it is, I didn't think it would be this great," Arkadi replied. Then, noticing the three-pointed object underneath the Medic's seat, continued "Why the defibrillator?"

"In case anybody overindulges or overdoses on the alcohol," Hatusa replied, chuckling as he sipped a glass of water.

Yuri Tarkov chose this moment to interject, asking nobody in particular how much time was left until the clock rolled over to January 1st, 2140.

Arisako Kasugai glanced at his watch and answered "Just about an hour. I didn't realize it was so late."

Arkadi excused himself for a second and made his way over to the buffet table to get himself some food. In the queue for the turkey, the soldier in front of him turned and chuckled.

"Hey there, Malkov. How do you like the food? All courtesy of the valiant Echo squad, of course."

Arkadi grinned. The man in front of him was Kazuo Tanaka, the leader of Echo, who were, as everyone knew, the squad responsible for 'securing' much of the provisions for the party.

"Haven't had any yet. Looks damn good, though," Arkadi replied, stepping forward at the queue advanced.

"The hell? You just got back, didn't you? Get in front of me, you have to try some of this turkey. I can almost say we outdid ourselves on this one," Tanaka shouted over the din, as he stepped behind Arkadi to allow the Sergeant to take his share of the food.

"Oh yeah, just a little request from Alpha. Next time you go on patrol, mind bringing back some…what was it now…oh, right. Fresh oysters, escargots, sirloin steak and rack of lamb," Arkadi joked, pretending to recall a list of orders.

Tanaka appeared to look offended for a second, and then replied, perfectly deadpan, "I'll tell the Echo boys about it, see what we can do."

"Cheers, Kazuo. Secure the package," Arkadi answered, imitating Choy's consistent order to them.

The two soldiers parted ways and Arkadi carried his plate of food back to the table where Alpha was seated. The other three squadmembers were already engaged deep in conversation when he arrived back.

"…so I hear they're sending quite a few reinforcements to Belgrade," Kasugai said to Hatusa.

"Really? That's news to me. Where from?" Hatusa asked.

"I honestly have no idea. I suppose they'll pull some out of Minsk since all we need there are occupying forces, and I hear we're abandoning the campaign in Sidi Abdel Rahman," Kasugai reported. The implications of the latter statement were known to both of them – they were allowing the EU to take control of the nuclear power plant.

"I honestly don't see the tactical purpose of this damned city. Sure it's an EU fortress city, but apart from that? By the time we're done here there will _be _no fortress left."

"We can only speculate. I think it has something to do with transportation – this place _is _a major monorail hub."

Being engrossed in the actually very satisfying turkey, Arkadi didn't register the conversation of his two squadmates. As the clock ticked closer to the end of 2139, the partygoers gradually progressed from eating to talking, and the food-laden buffet gradually became less and less food-laden. The main cargo bay door had been opened, revealing a glorious, starry, cloudless night. Several people began to migrate towards the exposed aft deck, where only the dim red glow of the _Kastav's _shield distorted their view of the sky.

Field Commissar Zhen Choy's voice suddenly rang out over the intercom system. "Five minutes to 2140!" he informed the assembled mass of soldiers, who prepared for the arrival of midnight.

Arkadi himself strode over to the aft deck. Even though it was a hotbed of warfare, Belgrade looked stunning at night. The tall skyscrapers glimmered with pinpricks of light, while streetlamps carved out the path of roads in the darkness. Near the farthest end of his vision another strange red glow was visible against the inky black of the night sky – another PAC Titan.

And then suddenly Choy glanced at his watch and activated the intercom again, calling out loudly the start of the final seconds of 2139.

"_TEN!"_

Everybody else onboard the _Kastav _heard the announcement and began to follow in unison.

"_NINE!"_

"_EIGHT!"_

"_SEVEN!"  
"SIX!"  
"FIVE!"  
"FOUR!"  
"THREE!"  
"TWO!"  
"ONE!"_

And then, as the _Kastav IV's _clock switched from 23:59/31/12/39 to 00:00/01/01/40, the loudest roar of all came up.

"_HAPPY NEW YEAR!"_

Smiling slightly, Arkadi Malkov stepped back into the warm interior of the _Kastav. _A lot had happened in the past year. He'd been promoted to Sergeant, transferred to Belgrade, and shared a foxhole with three other soldiers who had become brothers to him.

And, of course, this whole goddamn war had started.

Arkadi Malkov liked reading old literature. 20th and 21st century books were his favourites. Back in the 2020s, he'd got a good laugh about reading so-called "science fiction" which more often than not involved fancy technology and a storyline generally driven by humans needing resources and willing to fight for them. And always he would chuckle at the fact that whatever "fictional" technology mentioned in those books was probably in widespread use by the armed forces of both supercontinents.

But the resource war?

He'd never imagined it would happen. The thought that the whole planet could conceivably 'run out of food', while being perfectly plausible, was something he would never have considered to happen in _his _lifetime.

Which, he reflected, was probably the attitude of everybody else – 'oh, it'll happen, but not to _me'. _Such was humanity's attitude towards everything, and what had probably caused the war in the first place – since nothing major had been done to counteract global warming until the goddamn Ice Age was _already _on them.

Arkadi Malkov stared back into the sky.

He was a soldier. A soldier of the Pan-Asian Coalition Armed Forces. And like all other soldiers of the Pan-Asian Coalition Armed Forces, when he had enlisted, he had taken an oath. An oath which now came floating back to the surface of his mind. He recalled the exact words as if it were yesterday that the Colonel Silver had stood before him as he recited them:

_I swear that I will, to the best of my ability, protect and serve the ideals of the Pan-Asian Coalition in thought, word, and deed, and will defend this nation against all enemies, foreign and domestic, until released from service or taken by death._

And as he remembered those words, Arkadi Malkov realized something.

This war was goddamn hell.

But the devil take him if he wasn't going to fight it tooth and nail. Because when he made a promise, he damn well kept it.

As the first few minutes of 2140 ticked by, Arkadi Malkov swore that the Coalition Army would win Belgrade.


	5. Chapter 5: Debriefing

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 5: Debriefing**

_Moscow_

_January 10__th__, 2140_

By anybody's standards, the Pan Asian Coalition High Command fortress was an impressive sight.

Rising twelve storeys high and extending another fifty below ground, High Command was a structure which did not need lavish decorations to impress. The visible portion of the building was hexagonal in shape, and almost as wide as it was tall. The surrounding grounds boasted several ornate water features, carved in likenesses of teams of soldiers, or mythical creatures such as dragons.

As Brigadier General Hoten Sousuke strode along the path leading to the main entrance, flanked by two armed Coalition Army guardsmen, he reflected on the report he was about to present. Inwardly, the thanked heaven that it contained good news…the _best _of news, in fact. His audience, none other than the Supreme Commander of the Pan-Asian Coalition Armed Forces.

His right hand tightened on the handle of the briefcase he was carrying which held the notes for his report. As he approached the incredibly well fortified main entrance, two more guards snapped to attention and saluted him.

"Welcome to High Command, Brigadier General, sir," one of them said formally, after Sousuke returned the salute and indicated that they stand at ease. He, along with the other guardsman, opened the front doors. Behind them lay a wide hallway, richly decorated with marble floors and wood-panelled walls. Potted plants lined the edges of the hallway, an attempt to inject some natural green into the otherwise cold, gray setting.

At the other end of this hallway lay a set of less decorative but far more imposing looking doors, constructed of solid steel, two feet thick. A terminal that looked like it was used for scanning objects stood to the right of this impenetrable barricade. Two guards – armed with Clark 15B shotguns – snapped to attention as Sousuke and his escorts approached.

"ID, please, General," the guard nearest to the terminal requested, striding forwards to meet the three men. Sousuke withdrew his identification card from his shirt pocket and passed it to the burly guardsman, who inspected it visually for a few seconds before swiping it through a slot on the terminal behind him. A small LED flashed green.

"You're clear, sir. Please place your hand on the panel and look into the retinal scanner," the guard continued.

Sousuke did as the guard requested, placing his hand on a glass panel located at chest level on the terminal, while placing his eyes against a rectangular camera-like object on top of the terminal. The guard pressed a button on the terminal's control panel, and the terminal came to life. The glass panel on which Sousuke's hand rested glowed blue, and on a separate computer monitor an image of the General's hand appeared on screen.

The terminal emitted a positive-sounding confirmation tone and flashed a greed LED to indicate that the handprint precisely matched that of Hoten Sousuke's handprint in the personnel database.

Next the retinal scanner began to glow red, and Sousuke had to force himself not to squint as the light shone directly into his eyes. Again the terminal indicated a perfect match. Everyone in the room relaxed slightly more. Beyond any doubt, the man whom they were now escorting to the Supreme Commander's office was Brigadier General Hoten Sousuke.

Led by his Voss L-AR-wielding escorts, Brigadier General Sousuke strode down several corridors, took several elevator rides, and passed several more security checkpoints before finally standing outside a rich mahogany door bearing a plaque which read:

_A. Petrov_

_Supreme Commander_

_Pan-Asian Coalition Armed Forces High Command_

The guards who had escorted him thus far now halted. "We are not authorized to enter, General. Do you need us to help you find the way out?" one of them asked politely.

"I will manage. You can return to your posts," Sousuke responded. The two guards indicated their assent and thanks, and strode off in the direction they had come from.

Hoten Sousuke steeled himself, and rapped sharply on the door.

A voice from inside called in Russian "Come in!"

Sousuke took a deep breath and opened the door.

Supreme Commander Arkadi Petrov was a man who commanded respect without appearing to. His olive green officer's uniform was spotless, and innumerable combat decorations gleamed on the right side of the jacket, testament to the countless battles he had survived, the immeasurable sacrifices he had made for his country, and the outstanding career of active service on the frontlines. His hair, a light, sandy brown, was cropped short, and his green eyes shone with a fierce determination that did not mask the underlying signatures of compassion and understanding so important in a figure of such high authority, for nobody in the entire armed forces had any power to overrule him.

Supreme Commander Petrov smiled at Sousuke as he invited the General to take a seat at his desk. Sousuke complied, setting down his briefcase upon the teak wood surface – the exotic woods being compliments of the occupying PAC forces in the African continent.

"I understand you bring me good news, Brigadier General. The battle of Minsk is going well, I hear," Petrov began, after the both of them were seated facing each other.

"Supreme Commander…with all due respect, your information seems to be outdated, sir," Sousuke replied, opening his briefcase and withdrawing a file of papers from it.

Arkadi Petrov raised an eyebrow slightly. "Oh? Please elaborate, General Sousuke."

Sousuke took a deep breath and looked his superior in the eyes. "The city has fallen, sir. Minsk is ours," he reported, triumph evident in his voice.

Petrov stared back into the Brigadier General's eyes, searching for confirmation, searching his soul for assurance that he was telling the truth. There was no lie in Sousuke's eyes.

"Are you certain?" he half whispered, eyes wide.

"Beyond doubt, Supreme Commander. The full report is right here," Sousuke replied, passing the file over to his superior.

Slowly, as if afraid of what it might contain, Petrov opened the file and began to read. He read about the initial foray into Minsk, the subsequent two-month initial combat period of random skirmishes between expeditionary forces of both sides. He read Sousuke's notes about the later six months after the Brigadier General's fleet arrived in Minsk, and the precise, detailed reports, including casualty rates, of every individual operation Sousuke had conducted. From the last few pages of the report Petrov learned the complete facts behind the destruction of the EU Titan _Arc Lightning, _and the subsequent destruction of the other three remaining EU Titans in an incredible time frame of three days. The last page of the report contained a conclusion of how the EU, routed and decimated, had called on its forces to retreat from Minsk, leaving the city in control of the Coalition Army.

Petrov slowly closed the file and raised his gaze to lock eyes again with General Sousuke.

"Brigadier General Hoten Sousuke," he began, his eyes shining with pride, "this is beyond a doubt the most resounding success so far in the European Theatre. Congratulations, General, you have truly outdone yourself," he said.

"Thank you, Supreme Commander. I did the best I could have," Sousuke replied, trying to appear modest.

"And that simply proves your quality, General," the Supreme Commander countered, "For your efforts, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Major General, and I am officially awarding you the War College Ribbon for distinguished and meritorious services to the Army. It will be a sad day for the Army if you ever retire, General."

Hoten Sousuke was barely able to control his shaking body as the two of them stood up, and Major General Hoten Sousuke raised his hand in a salute towards the Supreme Commander. The superior officer returned it, and dismissed the Major General.

Hoten Sousuke knew that this was a defining moment in his career. That this would make him a legend. That fifty years from now, when the war was over, students would study this particular battle in history classes, and hopefully would realise that he, Sousuke, had been a major factor in the Coalition Army's victory.

As he walked off towards his assigned living quarters in the High Command building, Major General Hoten Sousuke knew that he had just made history.

No matter what happened, he was now immortal.


	6. Chapter 6: The Saboteur's Gambit

Comrades in Arms

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 6: The Saboteur's Gambit**

_Verdun_

_January 19__th__, 2140_

Ever since the wholesale destruction of the EU's Third Command Post in Verdun by Maxim Kosarkov, the Europeans had seen fit to cease using groundside bunkers as CPs, preferring to keep their higher-ranking officers – like the late Robert Shepherd – housed inside the safe, shielded interior of a MK-1 Titan. Of course, that presented another problem in the fact that they had neglected to set up BLOC-III missile silos anywhere in their own territory. The PAC forces, conversely, had used Titans right from the very beginning, and _had _taken the time to set up silos in easily defensible positions. What this resulted in was that the PAC were able to keep firing missiles at the EU Titans, and receive no retaliatory fire in return, save for those infrequent moments when the EU managed to overpower a PAC silo and reprogram it to fire at the PAC Titans. Such efforts were usually countered before the silo could launch any more than five missiles.

Caveat lector.

While the PAC _were _able to keep hammering the EU forces, the rather large distance between the missiles and their targets resulted in a flight time of several _hours. _Enough time for the Titan's point-defence guns to spot it and shoot it down, or for the Titan to simply move out of range of the missiles, the missile to crash in the middle of nowhere, and the Titan to dock at a repair facility well out of range of any PAC armaments. What this amounted to was an unyielding stalemate where the PAC couldn't do enough damage to a Titan quickly enough to kill it off, and the EU couldn't get close enough to the PAC to do damage to them without getting shredded. Casualty rates for both sides were at an all-time low, since Verdun had now reverted to the style of combat that had taken place when the two superpowers first clashed there – a game of cat-and-mouse involving random skirmishes and firefights between reconnaissance parties. There hadn't been a full scale assault operation in the past few months since Kosarkov's success in Operation Poison Tail.

A far cry from their original, intended purpose, the fleet of around six Standard and Superior-class Titans was not serving as a frontline outpost base from which daring operations were conducted, nor were they the subject of intense fighting with the aim to bring the Titan out of the sky. Rather, they were hanging in the rear lines with their larger Capital and Command-class brethren where not a single missile scratched their energy shields. Unsurprisingly, PAC High Command was dissatisfied by this. And so they had presented Verdun Command Staff with a new order: by January 31st, at least two EU Titans were to be rendered inoperable. In response, Brigadier General Miyamoto Takiguchi had drawn up plans for a solo operation involving his finest saboteur.

Gunner Silver Maxim Vladomirovich Kosarkov.

"This is a momentous occasion," Takiguchi declared as he and four other soldiers stood around a long ramp with what looked like a cannon at the base. "The world's first practical tandem jump."

All the others there knew what he was talking about. Tandem Jumps – or rather, Tandem Entry Camouflaged Insertions – were a proposed method of delivering small numbers of soldiers stealthily into enemy territory. It made combined use of four technologies: Assault Pods, attack parachutes, the IT-33 Optical Camouflage Device, and the DS-22 "Ghost" decoy system. The first stage of the insertion involved launching an Assault Pod from a very high velocity railgun. The pod would travel over to enemy territory by its own momentum, but it would be undetected even when within enemy sensor range due to its own optical camouflage covering. As soon as the soldier was within range of his target, he would exit the pod _in the air. _This was a crucial stage of the operation – Assault Pod landings tended to leave a smoke trail and kick up dust and be heard from hundreds of metres away. Eliminating the pod early on – since it would self destruct after the soldier had evacuated it – took away the problem of a detectable landing. From then on the soldier would use his parachute to make the drop into enemy lines, both him and his equipment concealed by the soldier's own optical camo.

The ramp, being towed along by a BTR-4 Romanov APC, now stopped outside a church in the northern sector of Verdun.

"We're in position, General! This is as far as we can get without going into their sensor zone!" the Romanov driver barked over the loudspeaker.

"All right, everybody, get set for launch in five!" Takiguchi ordered, and the four other soldiers hurried off to prepare the delivery system for firing.

In the back of the Romanov, Maxim Kosarkov prepared himself for the most intense operation he would ever undertake. Equipment – he was, for this mission, packing a silenced Malkov RK-11 SMG, as well as a specially modified silent Zeller-H advanced sniper rifle. As was customary for a saboteur he had in his backpack a staggering fifteen individual RDX DemoPaks. Kosarkov liked the bombs. He had, in his term as a frontline soldier, pioneered more than twelve methods of unusual delivery and usage of the explosive packages. Even in basic training he had shown an affinity for stealth and sabotage, a trait which had been quickly noticed and encouraged by his training officer. Most soldiers in Kosarkov's situation would have been scared or nervous, but the Gunner Silver was perfectly calm and collected.

Kosarkov disappeared, and a quiet humming noise filled the air. Satisfied that the upgraded camouflage device worked as it was supposed to – with a greatly reduced audio signature – Kosarkov re-entered the visible spectrum and stowed the control device in his pocket. Loading – but not cocking – the Malkov SMG, he stepped out of the Romanov APC into the chilly evening air. The wind was gentle and the sun splashed streaks of gold and pink against the sky, complementing the quiet, peaceful setting of the church courtyard they stood in.

Kosarkov strode over to the ramp assembly where General Takiguchi and the team of Engineers stood ready. He saluted the General and those Engineers who were ranked above him, and returned the salutes of the soldiers subordinate to him.

"All right, Kosarkov. You know the drill. Take out their repair dock and their Titans first, then go after their communications. Sat-Track has confirmed an armoury in the area, so you should be well set for additional supplies. And remember they have radio jamming in that area. Until you take out the comms, we won't be able to contact you," Takiguchi briefed Kosarkov as the latter climbed into the pod sitting in its housing at the base of the ramp.

As soon as Kosarkov was sealed inside, the four Engineers began the launching protocols.

"Magnetic rails charged to 80 percent!" one Engineer called as he read a meter on the side of the ramp assembly and flipped switches on a board.

"Pneumatic launchers at maximum pressure!" another reported.

"Hydraulic assists operating at full capability!" the third barked as he checked a gauge.

"Pod locked and ready to fire!" the last one shouted, giving the pod a shake to determine its stability.

"Rails hot! Ready to launch!" the first Engineer called as the needle on the meter reached the rightmost point of its travel.

"Launch team, you have control," Takiguchi assured, stepping back from the pod and ramp.

"Copy that, General! Preparing to launch now!" the Engineer on the hydraulics gauge replied, "Trajectory!?"

"Clear!" yelled the man on the rail charge meter.

"Atmosphere!?"

"Clear!"

"Systems!?"

"All systems are go!"

The hydraulics man moved to the rear of the ramp, where a large red button took pride of place on a control panel. Green lights glowed across the board, indicating that all the ramp's launch systems were functioning perfectly.

"Light to launch?" the control man barked, asking for confirmation.

The first Engineer glanced at Takiguchi, who nodded. "We have green light!" he yelled back.

"Launching pod in ten seconds!"

The operator's finger hovered over the large red button.

"Launching in five, four, three, two, one, _launching!" _the operator screamed as he stabbed the button into the control panel with his finger.

The ramp hissed as its compressed air canisters depressurized slightly.

And then an incredibly loud _BANG _resounded across the snowy plain as the pod seemed to vanish from its housing at the base of the ramp. As Takiguchi and the four Engineers looked into the sky, they saw the pod streak high up until it disappeared completely from sight.

Takiguchi and the team of Engineers scrambled back into the Romanov. It had been purpose-modified for this mission, and its interior troop transport bay cleared of weaponry and ammunition. The four defence machine gun turrets had been removed and the space used for a viewscreen much like those found in the command centre of a Titan, albeit smaller in size. The main screen was devoted to a digital map of Verdun, on which a pulsing blue dot was steadily creeping westward – Kosarkov's pod. Other, smaller screens listed data which the Engineers were diligently keeping track of, on the watch for any abnormalities.

A low, quiet beep emanated from one of the speakers, and a few lines of text appeared on the smallest of the screens.

/TRANSMISSIONSTART BURSTCOM ASSLTPOD-01

All systems five-by-five. Entering enemy radar range in 15. Going quiet.

/TRANSMISSIONEND

General Takiguchi breathed a sigh of relief knowing that Kosarkov was fine.

High above the clouds, Kosarkov could barely feel a thing. His high-speed flight through the air was neither spectacular nor breathtaking in terms of view – the pod was completely sealed from the outside. All he could see was a smaller version of the large map on Takiguchi's screen. This one also showed his speed, the estimated time left before he reached the target, and the deploy zone, or the area over which he would need to eject from the pod. Kosarkov's hand brushed against the small, square plastic cap which covered the deploy switch. A glance at the ETA clock showed he had roughly five more minutes of flight time before he was on target. As the pod soared through the air, Kosarkov kept a close watch on all of his reading equipment.

Precisely four minutes and forty-six seconds later an alarm started to beep, informing Kosarkov that he had just entered the drop zone. The saboteur waited another ten seconds for good measure, then removed the plastic cap which protected the deploy switch. Taking a deep breath, he flicked the switch downward.

The sides of the pod exploded away from him, harsh, glaring sunlight and bitter, rending chill assaulting his body. His mask polarized, and through the darkened lens he saw the six separate pieces of the pod consume themselves in balls of flame. Kosarkov moved his right arm in front of his face and checked the altimeter built into his arm guard. After about twenty seconds of freefall, he jerked the ripcord of his parachute. The flexible metal canopy flared out of his backpack, and then both it and the man underneath it vanished, to be replaced with a shimmering patch of distorted air that was almost completely invisible to the naked eye.

The parachute ride took just under twenty minutes before Kosarkov's feet sunk into the fresh powder snow. The saboteur cursed at the terrain, knowing that his camouflage was useless if footprints betrayed his location. Activating the unit again, he stood up and took stock of his surroundings. He was in the middle of what looked like the outskirts of the Titan repair dock, built into the side of a mountain. It seemed as though he were on a ridge overlooking the main facility, which comprised several low-rise buildings, a tall communications tower, and several large, flat landing bays built on stilts jutting out of the steep wall of the mountain.

Pancaking his body into the snow, Kosarkov shouldered his Zeller-H sniper rifle and scanned the facility. Through its red-tinted scope he saw guards, crewmen, and took in every detail of the buildings. His hand tensed on the grip of the rifle and he had to force himself not to silently pick off the EU personnel one by one. Kosarkov was an accomplished sniper – it had been a highly recommended training course along with his saboteur training. Peering through the scope and seeing the individual stitches on the enemy soldiers' uniforms from a range at which they couldn't even detect his presence invoked a grim sense of power in Kosarkov. At that point in time he knew that he held in his hand the life of every man he could see through that scope. At that point in time Kosarkov was God.

He remained there for ten minutes, studying the guards' patrol routes, the crewmen's actions, and the three Titans docked there which he fully intended to decommission. At last, satisfied that he had learned all there was to learn from this range, he slung the rifle and engaged his camouflage. Drawing his Malkov SMG from the holster on his thigh, he engaged his camouflage and began to creep down towards the repair facility.

Entering the compound itself was a simple matter – the EU, believing no doubt that the mountain itself would protect them from behind, had neglected to post sentries or even build a perimeter wall on that edge of the facility. Entering a building and checking to make sure there were no sentries inside, Kosarkov disengaged his camouflage and allowed it to recharge.

He took stock of the building he was in. It was dark, so he located a light switch and flicked it on. What the light revealed was extremely gratifying to the saboteur.

He was in an armoury. One which was stocked with all manner of weaponry and equipment. Systematically he began to comb the room for any equipment that might have been useful. The most rewarding discovery was a crate packed full of RDX DemoPaks, which he marked with a knife for future reference. Kosarkov knew he would eventually need all the explosives this base had to offer. He also discovered some Anti-Personnel Mines, which he planted behind the door to keep others from entering.

Thus fully supplied, Kosarkov left the armoury and mentally ran over his objectives. Firstly to take out the repair dock and at least two Titans. Secondly to disable the communications jammer. While the latter objective would have been the easiest to accomplish, Kosarkov knew it was of far lesser importance than the first. High Command had ordered the destruction of Titans, not towers. And thus, he activated his camouflage and started to make his way towards the repair dock, where three Titans rested immobile.

Gaining entry to the Titans themselves would be another matter completely. Camouflage would not work – there were sentries stationed there, Support soldiers most likely with Optic Camouflage ID upgrades built into their NetBat helmets. Chancing detection was too risky, which left only two options. Firstly, to take out the guards with headshots from the Zeller rife. Secondly, Kosarkov could disguise himself – again – as an EU soldier.

While systematically drilling holes between the eyes of EU soldiers from half a kilometre away would have been incredibly satisfying for Kosarkov, such a method would only draw attention when the corpses were discovered. Plus, such a method did not help the fact that there were dozens of Engineers sprinting back and for the around the Titans, any one of whom could have noticed the shimmering camouflage blur. In any case, Kosarkov needed the ammunition in the Zeller for other purposes. With all this considered he crouched in the shadow of a supply building, activated his camouflage, and waited.

Sure enough, it was a matter of minutes before a lone EU soldier came walking towards the building, presumably needing to collect more repair supplies. The soldier pushed open the door and stepped inside the building. Kosarkov immediately crept after him and slid through the still-open door without touching it.

The soldier had his back to Kosarkov and was leaning over an open crate, searching for some equipment Kosarkov neither knew nor cared about. With brutal efficiency, Kosarkov kicked the European in the back of the knees, causing him to crumple to the ground. Kosarkov snaked his right arm around the soldier's neck and started to squeeze. The man thrashed wildly, trying to escape his assassin's vice-like grip. Using his free hand, Kosarkov yanked the man's helmet off and slammed his head against the edge of the supply crate he had been searching. The soldier stopped struggling, but Kosarkov did not release his iron grip. Instead he unsheathed his combat knife and slowly inserted it into the man's throat. Blood spurted out of the fresh wound into the crate, the soldier's life force draining out of his body. After a sizeable volume of blood had escaped the soldier, Kosarkov released his grip, careful not to allow the blood to stain the uniform. Crossing to the other end of the supply room, the assassin deftly locked the door. Working quickly, he stripped the dead Engineer for his uniform at the same time as removing his own Recon gear. Inwardly Kosarkov cursed, knowing that he would need to leave some of his Recon gear here because it would have made him look conspicuous.

Within the space of five minutes Kosarkov was fully dressed in the garb of a European Union Army Engineer. To complete the look, Kosarkov took from the dead soldier's body a Turcotte Rapid SMG, standard issue for all EU Engineers. Per tradition, he also removed the Engineer's dog tags and slipped them into his pocket. With the blade of his combat knife he scratched a long groove into the hard plastic sheath – a testament to another knife kill.

The sheath now had 27 notches on it.

Kosarkov stepped out of the store room and began to make his way east, towards the Titan repair docks. EU soldiers saw him in plain sight and took no notice as he strode over to the large, flat docking bay on which a MK-1 Superior-class Titan rested, its hover drives dark and its shield deactivated.

Kosarkov stepped towards a metal ladder which led up into the weapon console room of the Titan, calling out to another Engineer "Reactor core need any work?" in his German-accented English.

"Coolant supply's fucked. Jim and Rodrigo are working on it, but they might need an extra hand," the oblivious Engineer informed the saboteur, who smiled to himself and thanked his unknowing informant.

Kosarkov's fingers drummed on the notched surface of his knife scabbard, but inwardly he was irritated. There were two people inside the Titan in close proximity to each other, and all he could feasibly use to take care of them was his knife. While the Turcotte would have been a much faster weapon, it was not silenced, and the noise of gunshots would have immediately blown his cover. He cursed at the fact that his silenced Malkov was lying in an armoury half a kilometre away, and would have been too conspicuous to carry with him. Deciding to worry about how to remove the EU Engineers from the critical zones on the Titan once he was actually inside, he climbed the ladder and walked over to the weapon consoles. To alleviate suspicion, Kosarkov withdrew a DysTek Repair Tool from its holster and began to work on one of the consoles. He smiled to himself – lying on his back underneath the weapons console was a prime location to plant bombs. He fished out two of the DemoPaks from his backpack and hid them in the corners of the consoles, out of sight of anybody doing a cursory inspection. Standing up, he made his way down the ramps which led to the reactor core room. He noted that the internal layout was incredibly similar to that of a PAC Titan, and correctly guessed the location of the reactor core room.

Two EU personnel, both Engineers, were already inside the room, their DysTek tools sparking as they attempted to repair a large cable poking out of a removed access panel in the wall.

"Coolant supply?" Kosarkov asked neither in particular.

"Yep. Last missile this baby took must have wrecked it. Damn thing was spewing the green stuff all over the damn wires when we found it. Took a couple days to drain it all. Now it's just a matter of patching it back up," one of them replied.

Kosarkov nodded, and asked another question "Anywhere else need working on?"

"Nope. This is the last thing, after that, this baby's ready to fly."

Kosarkov smiled outwardly but cursed his bad fortune inside. Nowhere else that he could explain his presence in to sabotage, and these two were preventing him from accessing his ultimate goal.

"I'm going to the bathroom for a second. Be right back," he announced to the two busy Engineers, who nodded and turned back to their work.

Kosarkov slowly walked over to the doors that lead into the cargo bay. Surreptitiously, he unholstered the Turcotte and clicked off the safety, making sure it was loaded at the same time. Unnoticed by the two Engineers, he walked over to the panel that controlled the doors and pushed the CLOSE button.

The doors slid shut with a quiet hiss.

"Huh?" one Engineer began, looking up.

With a twist of his body like a snake, Kosarkov spun to face the two of them and opened fire with the Turcotte. The man who had looked up fell down against the furious hail of SMG fire while Kosarkov shifted his aim without taking his finger off the trigger and cut down the other one too. Waiting a brief five seconds, he listened for any sign of an alert. Nothing. The room was soundproof enough that the noise of his gunfire had not been heard.

He quickly crossed over to the two fallen bodies and dead-checked them – putting a single bullet in each of their foreheads. Dumping the backpack of explosives on the ground, he withdrew ten DemoPaks and armed them. What he was about to do was incredibly unorthodox, but it had been done before several times, each with incredibly satisfying results.

He opened the protective shielding barrier around the central reactor chamber. Had anyone done thins while it was powered up, they would have been charred to a crisp. Kosarkov dumped all of the armed DemoPaks into the inert reactor chamber, watching some of them fall to the bottom and some others adhere to the metal walls of the chamber. Shutting the containment door, he crossed over to a prominent control panel and engaged the reactor warm-up routine.

_Reactor Core generators initiating start-up protocols. Ready in five minutes._

Kosarkov collected all his equipment, relieved the dead bodies of their ammunition, and dashed out of the reactor core room. He slowed his stride as he came to the hangar bay, and with a perfectly nonchalant gait, climbed down the ladder onto the surface of the repair dock.

"You get that coolant line fixed?" someone asked him, the same Engineer who had unwittingly condemned Jim and Rodrigo to their deaths.

"Looks like it. They're just testing the engine warmup cycles now," Kosarkov replied.

"Let's hope it works. I'm sick of being stuck here and not able to do a damn thing about those Pancakes," the Engineer said, and turned back to his work.

Kosarkov nodded and set off back toward the armoury. Five minutes. Five goddamn minutes was not nearly enough to get the communications dish offline. The saboteur jogged back to the armoury, where he quickly exchanged the Engineer's clothing with his old Recon gear. He checked his watch – two minutes left to the Titan's engine activation. He left the armoury fully suited in his proper garb (not to mention with a sizeable supply of the EU's RDX DemoPaks), camouflaged himself, and started to climb the mountain at the rear of the base. After a minute of strenuous climbing, he stopped, decloaked, and peered at the Titan he had just sabotaged through the scope of his Zeller.

The hoverdrive engine pods on the Titan's underbelly had started to glow bright, electric blue, powered not by the main generator but by smaller ones which Kosarkov had not bothered to spike with explosives. His watch displayed thirty seconds left before main generator activation.

Slowly, the Titan's pods glowed brighter, and the whole thing started to rise into the air.

Twenty seconds.

The group of around seven engineers who had gathered on the docking platform cheered and applauded.

Ten seconds.

The Titan rose to a height of about fifteen metres above the platform.

Five…four…three…two…one.

Inside the Titan, the central reactor core flashed and a column of bright blue energy erupted inside the transparent chamber.

The ten explosives inside the chamber started to grow incredibly hot…and their detonator circuits triggered.

Ten packs of RDX explosive simultaneously exploded _inside _the reactor core, breaching the containment cell.

The coolant cables leading to the core ruptured, spewing green, slimy coolant fluid all over the inside of the reactor chamber.

The damaged containment cell ruptured, allowing the energy contained inside to lance outwards – so hot that it ignited the coolant surrounding it.

From outside, the Titan seemed to shudder, before a massive fireball erupted from inside its confines. Huge tongues of flame licked out of every opening of the Titan, as a thunderous _BOOM _resounded from within and the entire Superior-class Titan plummeted from the air. The huge metallic hunk slammed onto the surface of the docking bay, exploding again on contact. The gathered Engineers were either crushed or incinerated as the docking bay, unable to take the stress, collapsed, the supporting struts anchoring it to the mountainside snapping and the entire docking bay breaking at the point where it joined the mountain, tumbling down the side.

From his vantage point on the side of the mountain behind the base, Kosarkov raised an eyebrow. Perhaps ten DemoPaks had been one too many.

The confused – and frankly, scared shitless – EU soldiers ran every which way as a klaxon began to blare and a loud announcement blared over the loudspeakers.

_All personnel be advised, we have an intruder in the compound. Increase alert status to code red. The enemy may be dressed in our own colours. Face-check all personnel encountered._

Kosarkov chuckled to himself as he saw the EU soldiers frantically taking off their helmets and peering into each others' eyes. This job was going to be far too easy. Shifting the Zeller into a better shooting position, he stared through the optical scope and acquired the head of a lone soldier in the crosshairs. Kosarkov took several deep breaths, oxygenating his blood. Mentally, he adjusted his aim to compensate for his higher position compared to his target, the distance over which the shot would drop, and the slight wind blowing perpendicular to the direction of his shot.

His finger rested on the trigger, started to ease it backward. His breathing stopped. As his heart paused between beats, Kosarkov quickly but fluidly slipped the trigger rearwards.

A muffled thump spat out the Zeller's muzzle and the weapon kicked back into the sniper's shoulder.

Quickly reacquiring his target, Kosarkov saw a red cloud explode out the back of his target's skull. The EU soldier seemed to stand upright for a second, as if not quite realizing that he had just been shot. Slowly, he slumped to the ground, face down, staining the surrounding snow with blood that quickly froze solid.

Kosarkov had wisely chosen a target away from the pandemonium of the middle of the repair facility. Nearer to the outskirts guards could generally be sniped at will, but in the middle was where everyone was frantically dashing back and forth setting up defences such as Enforcer sentry turrets and APM mines. Kosarkov noted with a twisted sort of glee that when a hapless EU Assault soldier tried to enter the armoury, the APM mine he had planted detonated in a magnificent spray of buckshot-like pellets, cutting the soldier's legs out from underneath him.

Remembering to conserve the Zeller's ammunition, Kosarkov quickly sniped two more guards near the outskirts of the facility before relocating his position to a point near a motor pool. This being a repair facility, there were not many heavy vehicles save a few APCs. Much of the motor pool was dominated by the standard MK-15 Bandit FAVs which Kosarkov supposed were mainly used for transporting crates of repair supplies and/or ammunition.

Kosarkov engaged his camouflage and assessed his methods of entry. The motor pool was located right next to a sheer cliff drop of roughly twenty metres. Shouldering the Zeller, he sprinted invisibly to the edge of the drop and leaped off, activating his parachute as soon as his feet left the ground. The metal canopies burst unseen into the air, allowing him to glide down safely onto the roof of the motor pool.

No sooner had he landed than an APC trundled out from the building, all its turrets pivoting every which way in search of him. Deciding to have some fun, he withdrew three packs of RDX from his backpack and tossed them over the edge of the roof, where they adhered magnetically to the top side of the APC. The explosive-laden vehicle trundled over to the forward area of the base where the Titan repair docks were, acting as an armed roadblock to stop people accessing the docks. As soon as it stopped, Kosarkov shouldered the Zeller, took brief aim at the top of the vehicle, and fired. The round struck the explosive DemoPak, causing it to explode in a cloud of orange flame which consumed the APC and several soldiers standing around it.

An observer would have wondered why Kosarkov did not simply detonate the RDX using the remote, and would have received a very good answer. The EU communications dish, as the PAC knew, functioned as a jammer to block unauthorized signals from reaching their destination. The important part was that it blocked _all _unauthorized signals, including simple point-to-point communication – such as between the detonator on an explosive and the control used to detonate it. Had Kosarkov attempted to trigger the explosive in the conventional manner, not only would the remote have failed to detonate, but the communications facility would have been able to triangulate the source of the signal…and pinpoint the saboteur's exact location. This was the reason Kosarkov had had to resort to such unconventional – borderline _unorthodox – _methods to destroy the Titan. It was also the reason General Takiguchi had decided not to employ a more conventional gunship assault on the repair dock – without the ability for the squadrons to communicate, such an attempt would have ended in disaster.

With the EU now distracted by _another _destruction of their materiel, Kosarkov leapt down lightly to the motor pool entrance, whereupon he quickly eliminated two guards there and clambered into a Bandit FAV. Pounding his fist on the red ignition button, he sped the Bandit out of the garage and into the back of an EU soldier. Without pausing, Kosarkov leaned over to the gunner seat controls and grabbed the joystick and twisted it to the right while simultaneously depressing the thumb trigger on top of the joystick. The twin machine guns on top of the Bandit started to rotate about the axis of the turret, spitting hot lead in a 360-degree arc. Hardly fazed, Kosarkov sped along, at the eye of a spinning storm of machinegun fire.

EU soldiers attempted to repel him, but they were simply crushed against the front bumper of the Bandit or cut to pieces by the whirling vortex of machinegun fire. Kosarkov kept his foot down on the accelerator, using the turbo function whenever permissible. He sped through the 90-degree turns of the facility's grid layout, taking the quickest possible route to the communications facility.

Before long, Kosarkov found himself on a straight stretch of road at the end of which was a chain-link fence. And behind that fence was a tall framework structure supporting at its pinnacle a large dish.

Kosarkov took his hand off the gunner's joystick, ending the cyclone of fire. Opening his pack, he dumped _all _his remaining RDX DemoPaks onto the floor of the Bandit. Leaning down, he momentarily removed his foot from the accelerator – and then stabbed the pedal down into the floor with his combat knife. The Bandit began to pick up speed yet again.

Kosarkov shifted into the gunner seat and threw open the left door of the vehicle. He shot the hinge with his Malkov, taking the door off. Grabbing the gunner's joystick yet again, he opened fire on the fence. Many bullets simply passed through the holes, but some pinged on the interlocked wires, splitting them and weakening the fence's integrity.

With just ten seconds left to impact, Kosarkov leapt out of the Bandit.

The driverless vehicle continued to speed towards the fence at full throttle-

-While its driver hit the snow and rolled-

-Before the vehicle crashed into the fence-

-And the saboteur stopped bouncing on the cold ground-

-Just before the Bandit tore through the weakened fence and struck the base of the Comm dish tower.

Kosarkov stood up, shouldered the Zeller, and fired three quick shots at the rear of the vehicle.

The Bandit, having been shot in the fuel tank, exploded. The heat from the fuel fire set off one RDX DemoPak, which in turn caused a chain reaction with the other nine explosive packages.

And Kosarkov stood and watched as the classical fireball and thunderclap blasted out from underneath the base of the tower on which the huge communications dish rested.

The shriek of rending metal was even louder than the noise of the explosion, and as Kosarkov watched, the entire tower began to list to the right.

Gathering his wits, the saboteur ran as the huge tower began to topple.

Miles away, sitting in an APC, Miyamoto Takiguchi's radio systems came alive.

"This is Kosarkov, communications are down. The local sector is in disarray, send in the Second Element, now!"

Takiguchi was instantly alert, and after barking a confirmation into the radio, hailed the waiting Second Element on their communication channel. "Squadrons two through ten, pursue defined assault vectors with all speed! Squadrons one and eleven through fifteen, follow up the attack force. I want everybody in the air double quick!"

Takiguchi's order was heard in every PAC-controlled sector of Verdun.

And from every Titan, every ground base, and every underground hangar, aircraft began to take off.

Doragon gunships – light, sleek and fast. Yastreb transports – slow, sturdy and resilient. Even captured Talons and Shepherds taken from EU hangars. Like hive-minded insects they rose as one into the skies, grouping into pre-established formations.

And then, perfectly on cue, they all headed eastwards as fast as their engines would push them.

Back at the EU's repair dock, the entire facility was in chaos. Kosarkov, his work having been completed to a certain extent, had retreated to the mountainsides where he now took to picking off random European soldiers with the Zeller.

"Up there! In the mountains!"

Seconds after those words reached his ears, machinegun fire raked Kosarkov's position, skimming millimetres over the top of his head.

"Damnit!" the saboteur barked, rolling over behind a rock, abandoning the Zeller, and drawing his silenced Malkov.

Kosarkov never liked firefights. He preferred it when enemies didn't shoot, because it meant that he would have more ammunition to salvage after he had killed them. Making sure the magazine of his SMG was full, he poked the gun over the top of the boulder he was using as cover and fired off a long burst.

The incoming LMG fire paused for a second, and Kosarkov poked his head around the boulder to check the EU positions. Picking out one particular Support gunner, he fired the rest of the Malkov's magazine at him in three-round bursts.

At that range, most of his shots missed, but he distinctly saw the man take hits in the shoulder, chest and leg. The man crumpled, screaming for a medic.

As bullets pinged against his boulder in retaliation, Kosarkov opened up his communications and barked "General, I'm pinned down by machineguns! How long until the gunships arrive!?"

"_Hold on for another two minutes, they'll be there ASAP!" _Takiguchi's voice shouted through his helmet speakers.

"Purple lights marking my position!" Kosarkov informed the General as he withdrew a small disc from his pocket, pressed a few buttons, and tossed it on the floor. The disc began to emit an intermittent purple flash.

Not too far away, the Doragon gunship at the head of a massive formation of aircraft hailed Takiguchi on the comms.

"General, this is Second Element, we have eyeballs on target. Light to engage?" the pilot asked.

"Second Element, you have green light. Our man's location is marked by purple lights," Takiguchi replied. Having left his APC, Takiguchi was now in the transport bay of one of the rearmost Yastrebs.

The pilot in the lead now switched to a team-wide frequency. "You heard the General. All gunships break formation and take out any air defences. Transports drop your crew on flyby-runs. Punch it!"

The Doragons and Talons, which had until then been flying in a triangular arrowhead formation, now broke apart into a scattered cloud of aircraft. The transport vehicles slowed, allowing the gunships to leave them behind. In swift, fast-paced ground strafing their large size and slower speeds were a liability.

Nearing the repair dock, the gunships unleashed their combined might against the few and paltry defences of the facility. Rockets streaked from the air down towards the turrets of grounded Titans, while machinegun fire raked lines in the ground, carving exposed soldiers into ribbons. TV-guided missiles traced graceful flight arcs in the air before slamming into buildings, turrets or vehicles. For their part, the EU attempted as best as they could to repel the air attack with gun turrets, SAAW missiles, and anti-air flak. This swarm of gunships harassed the EU unendingly, not only obliterating buildings but also targeting the grounded Titans.

After about fifteen minutes of this airborne siege, the transport craft began to advance over the dock. Without pausing to hover, each transport ejected six Assault Pods which burst open on the ground, delivering Coalition Army soldiers to the battlefront. Support troops created bases of fire with their powerful Ganz and Shuko machineguns, while Assault soldiers actively flanked and eliminated bunkered EU positions.

Seeing the Europeans distracted by his comrades on the ground, Kosarkov exposed himself and lent the firepower of his Malkov to the ground battle. Surrounded and outgunned, the EU personnel put up a tenacious defence, bunkering themselves into buildings and desperately trying to hold off the attacking forces. The entire fleet of Titans docked had been destroyed by a zealous team of Special Forces Recon personnel. And slowly but surely – and with a significant number of losses on the part of the Coalition Army, the EU were defeated at their own repair facility.

As the chaos of battle gave way to the chaos of the PAC attempting to restore order to the area, rounding up survivors and attending to their wounded comrades, General Takiguchi stepped out of his dropship to try and find Kosarkov. He spotted the saboteur attempting to clear the debris of the fallen communications dish with a borrowed DysTek repair tool.

"I don't know what to say. I don't there's anything I _can _say. How the hell can we ever thank you enough for this, Gunner?" Takiguchi began to ramble as Kosarkov caught sight of him approaching.

The saboteur abandoned the DysTek, straightened up, brushed the dust of his combat gear and looked his superior in the eye.

"I need a new knife, sir."


	7. Chapter 7: A Change of Plans

Comrades in Arms

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 7: A Change of Plans**

_Volgograd_

_January 21__st__, 2140_

"Remind me again what the goddamn hell?"

The ghostly, life-sized, translucent blue hologram of Supreme Commander Arkadi Petrov sighed and sat down on an equally intangible chair as the flesh and blood figure opposite him sat with his feet up on the table.

"We've abandoned the Sidi Abdel Rahman campaign to concentrate our efforts on the European Theatre. That means you – specifically you, not the rest of your former crewmates – are being reassigned to Verdun," Petrov repeated.

"Verdun. _Verdun. _Need I remind you that _nothing happens _in Verdun, Sup-Com?" growled the man with his feet on the table, "Even a deadbeat mercenary like me knows that Verdun is just about ours."

"_Yes,_ which leads me to my further explanation which I will _give _you in a minute. I'm not sending you to Verdun to _fight, _that's an ungodly waste of your talent. What I _am _doing is assigning you command of one of our retrofitted Titans and giving you a new contract to relocate post-haste to Verdun. From there, you will rendezvous with General Miyamoto Takiguchi and fly in formation with him as he repositions his fleet to Belgrade," Petrov explained.

The mercenary cocked an eyebrow and removed his feet from the table. "Belgrade. Might I inquire what the hell use _Belgrade _is for anything?"

"I'll have you know that Belgrade is a major European stronghold city. Taking it will give us control of factories, food production plants, and a major monorail hub. That should be incredibly useful for strategic transportation purposes, yes?"

The mercenary scoffed and shot back "So this is what it is. You're pulling me out of a _nuclear power plant _because you want a train set for Christmas?"

The irritated Supreme Commander rolled his eyes. "_Yes, _as you so elegantly put it, I want tactical control of this monorail hub."

"Fair enough. What about this Titan I'm getting my hands on?"

"She's docked at a hangar in Volgograd, as a matter of fact I've dispatched a few messengers to transport you there…"

No sooner had Petrov finished speaking than somebody knocked on the door of the mercenary's cabin. Standing up from the table, the grizzled man crossed over to the door and opened it, allowing the midday sunlight to stream in. Silhouetted against the bright background were two PAC soldiers in full combat dress.

"Supreme Commander Petrov sent us. I suppose you're the mercenary he was talking about?" the man closest to the door asked.

"I suppose so. Come in, have a drink, raid my fridge, and let me get some weaponry together," the mercenary replied.

The two soldiers walked into the cabin, saluting the still-present hologram of the Supreme Commander. After returning the salute, Petrov's avatar indicated that the two soldiers would answer any further questions the mercenary had, and vanished.

"Nice place," one of the soldiers commented.

The mercenary nodded, opened a trapdoor which led to an underground basement, and climbed down a ladder.

The two soldiers glanced at each other.

"He did say to raid his fridge," one of them pointed out, and both nodded in agreement.

In the subterranean chamber of the cabin, the mercenary flicked on a light switch. The electric lights flickered before emitting a steadily bright white glow. The underground room had plain, unpainted walls of concrete, from which shelves of ammunition and explosives jutted out. The largest wall was dominated by a weapons rack.

Smiling to himself, the mercenary unzipped a duffel bag and started selecting his tools.

The two soldiers were exchanging unimportant banter over a reheated roast chicken when the mercenary emerged from the trapdoor. Slung over his shoulder was a black duffel bag, and gripped in his right hand was his signature AK-47.

"You have a vehicle I can dump this in?" he asked the two soldiers.

"There's an Ocelot outside. Dump it in the trunk", one of them said, as they stood up to leave.

"Don't get up yet, I need to make a few more trips," the mercenary called as he headed out of the door. He returned a minute later without the bags and wordlessly climbed back down the ladder into the basement.

He emerged five minutes later with two identical rifles slung on his shoulders. Seeing what they were, the two soldiers gasped in shock.

"Is…is that what I _think _it is?" one of them stammered.

"Depends. What _do _you think it is?" the mercenary asked, perfectly unfazed.

"That's…that's a Krylov FA-26. The first production model, never entered service. They were all supposed to be destroyed when the later models were developed. That thing is an _antique!"_

"You think they were all destroyed, eh? Remind me what my job was _before _I landed a contract with you lot? Soldier for hire. Not all of that is blowing shit up. Sometimes we get to _steal _things too," the mercenary chuckled, as he patted the side of one of the rifles, "Very _nice _things."

The two soldiers were aghast. "And…you stole them…for _who?"_

"Can't tell you, that's private business. It's actually in the large print if you'll care to read the contract. My services are quite discreet, you understand…" the mercenary trailed off, leaving the two soldiers looking like fish out of water.

He made two more trips – both times having his gear hidden inside duffel bags – before he announced to the two soldiers that he was ready to leave. Silently, they stood up, finished their drinks, and stepped out of the cabin.

Outside was a parked UAZ-8 Ocelot FAV, the PAC equivalent of the EU MK-15 Bandit. This one had been modified as a sort of civilian model, lacking the topside machinegun turret, but incorporating space for five people including the driver. The back seats had been loaded with various bags of gear which the mercenary now shoved aside to make room for him to sit. The two soldiers climbed into the front passenger and driver seats, and started the car.

The drive was uneventful, and before long they had found themselves parked inside a large complex surrounded by a chain-link fence. A tall tower rose high above their heads, topped with radio communications equipment, while several lower-rise buildings dominated much of the space. A long strip of tarmac served as a runway for non-VTOL aircraft. The three men climbed out of the Ocelot, the mercenary making sure to grab his duffel bags.

"So, where's my Titan?" the mercenary asked, looking around at the various hangars.

"Right this way," one of the soldiers replied, tapping in a code on a keypad. A metallic clang was heard as a smaller door slowly slid open to reveal the interior of a spacious hangar room. The flat roof was supported by intricate metal cross-bracings which also served as hydraulics to open and close the roof for takeoffs. A number of heavy equipment trolleys bearing such things as refuelling pumps and welding torches lay neatly in a far corner.

Pride of place in the hangar was given to a relatively small air vehicle, and it was this vehicle that the three men now strode towards for a closer look.

"She doesn't look like a Standard-class to me…" the mercenary muttered, indicating the vehicle's small size and minimal armament.

"She isn't. This here is a Patrol/Reconnaissance-class Titan, still experimental. If all goes well we're planning to use these as part of Operation Thunder, during the assault on Berlin. Doesn't have much in the way of armament – there's two three-sixty-degree AA guns topside and some missile pods on the sides – but this thing can easily keep up with a Yastreb on full thrust. As a plus, you don't need a crew to run it – everything is controlled from the main Command Centre," one of the soldiers explained. As he spoke, he indicated several points of interest on the Titan's exterior.

"What's this assembly here for? Looks like a railgun," the mercenary asked, knocking his fist against a strange device on the Titan's underside. The contraption had the two long, sturdy rails of a Rorsch MK-S8 railgun turret, but also incorporated what appeared to be a small satellite dish.

"_That _there is one of our latest innovations. A vehicle-mounted EMP cannon. Similar to the ones you'd be used to calling in on a NetBat, but slightly more versatile. With this thing, you can do a surgical directed strike on a particular location – just like the NetBat version – _or _you can generate a radial EMP burst around the vehicle itself. That's actually a really useful thing, because this Titan's shields are pretty weak. Just from guessing I say it can take about ten, maybe fifteen BLOC-threes before the shield fizzes out," the same soldier answered. Then, climbing the ladder that led onto the aft deck, he continued "Come on, let me show you around the inside."

The three of them made their way up the ladder and into the interior of the Titan. What would have been the cargo bay of a Standard-class was instead an armoury of sorts, with weapon racks build into the walls, and crates of consumable combat supplies – such as grenades, ammunition and RDX – were pushed neatly against the ledge formed by the division between the lower and upper cargo bays.

"Only two Reactor Core Access Consoles, both on the upper interior. Unfortunately this thing still has the same weakness as the regular Titans. Blow the consoles, blow the core, and the whole thing drops," the soldier explained.

"And the core itself? Any different?" the mercenary questioned.

"Quite so. The main difference is that there are two cores. One powers the hover drives, the other feeds power to the ion thruster engines," the soldier said.

After examining the different aspects of the Titan's technical operation, the soldier directed the others towards the Command Centre. As expected, it was smaller than that of a Standard-class Titan, and more compacted in terms of its operation. There was only one chair, permanently bolted and welded to the floor, and only one screen from which everything was controlled. The station appeared to be a cross between a commander's console and the controls of a gunship, for in addition to the standard complement of keyboards and a control interface for the Titan's movement control, there was also a gunner's joystick and targeting computer for the missile pods. The only things not apparently controlled by the commander were the two guns which required real-time aiming: the topside anti-aircraft gun and the underside EMP cannon. Both had their own stations to the left and right of the main command station, so that a person entering the door of the Command Centre would have the EMP controls to their left, the AA to their right, and the commander would be sitting with his back to the door watching the main screen.

"This is pretty slick for a patrol vehicle. When do I get to take her up?" the mercenary asked, impressed by the new tools at his disposal.

"Supreme Commander Petrov wishes you to plot a course for Verdun with all haste. We can leave now if you're ready," the soldier replied.

"Great. Well, gentlemen, thank you very much. Pass my compliments on to the Sup-Com," the mercenary said, turning to sit down in the command chair.

"What? You thought we were leaving? Where do you think _we're _being deployed to?" one of the soldiers chuckled.

The mercenary spun to face them. "You mean-?"

"Yep. We're under your command, Cap'n," the soldier replied, velcroing a patch to his left shoulder for identification. The mercenary inspected it and saw that it depicted a forearm with a clenched fist crossed with a spear. A five-pointed star hung over the crossed elements. The design was red in colour, set against a black background.

"Iron Legion, hm? The Sup-Com must be serious about his train set," the mercenary smirked.

"Damn right he is. Alexei Vashkin, First Lieutenant Silver," said the soldier who had exposed the patch. The Iron Legion was the Coalition Army's equivalent of the EU Hell Brigade, the fiercest and deadliest infantry division short of Special Forces.

Behind him, his partner had done the same, and introduced himself as Grigori Sarov, Chief Petty Officer Gold.

"Well then. If you're going to be part of my little pirate ship, you'll need to be properly armed. Here, take these," the mercenary said. As he spoke, he knelt down, unzipped a duffel bag that he had brought with him, and tossed each man a Krylov FA-26. The rifles were heavier than their contemporary counterparts – the FA-37 – and were designed in a more blocky shape than the sleek FA-37. The carry handle and optic sight combination was missing, instead having a simple tombstone-shaped reflex sight. The stock was of a different design, similar to the type found on the EU Turcotte Rapid SMG, while the barrel section was designed with a more traditional under-mounted secondary munitions barrel, as opposed to the FA-37's design of placing the secondary barrel above the primary one. The muzzle end of the weapon resembled that of a Baur Heavy Assault Rifle, and it shared a similar trigger group with a full-hand guard.

The mercenary crossed over to the command chair, sat himself down, and initiated the engine start-up sequences. As the roof began to retract, allowing sunlight to stream into the hangar, the Titan began to rise into the air.

The two Iron Legion soldiers glanced at each other and then down at their new rifles. Lieutenant Vashkin grinned and muttered at his subordinate "I like this duty station already."

The Titan cleared the hangar and sped forwards into the sky with the speed of an air transport.


	8. Chapter 8: Underground Resistance

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 8: Underground Resistance**

_Minsk_

_January 25__th__, 2140_

Despite the fact that Minsk had been occupied by the Coalition Army for the better part of two months, the city was not entirely peaceful. While the European Union Army High Command had indeed ordered all its troops to retreat to Berlin, there still remained patches of resistance in the urban city. A few of these were groups of civilians under the command of an EU Army straggler who had chosen for whatever reason to disobey his orders and remain in Minsk – supposedly in the hope that he could somehow muster a force to resist the occupation. Some of the resistance forces were entire platoons of EU soldiers under rogue commanders. The vast majority, however, were simply civilians sympathetic to the EU who resented the PAC occupation and – however futile such a display of defiance may have been – had chosen to band together to form a collective resistance movement.

The two T-39 Bogatyr Battlewalkers pounded forward in a line, their upper body turrets panning left and right in search of hostiles. Behind them, two Romanov APCs followed literally at their heels, as a Doragon gunship and a Yastreb transport circled above. Victory in Minsk had happened two months ago, but the fighting was far from done. In Brigadier General Hoten Sousuke's absence – he was on leave in Moscow presenting a report to Supreme Commander Arkadi Petrov and awaiting new orders – his direct subordinate, Brigadier General Zhang Wei Li, had ordered periodic assault parties to clear out any remaining pockets of resistance.

It was following these orders that Major Ivan Zaitsev of the Coalition Army Special Forces now sat in the mortar gunner seat of a BTR-4 Romanov, while four more of his team piloted the Bogatyr Battlewalkers on point. Various satellite scans had indicated that this particular sector of Minsk, in the suburbs, was a major hotspot for rebel activity. Signalling the entire convoy via NetBat to stop and hold position, he exited the APC. The nine other Special Forces personnel assigned to the cleanup duty followed suit, their weapons up and at the ready. The team of ten approached a small two-storey house, watched over by the two sentinel-like Battlewalkers. Carefully pushing open the gate that led into the front yard, five men gathered around the front door, while the other five circled round the house to the back door.

Zaitsev, standing on the porch, rapped sharply on the front door. "Coalition Army! Open up in there!" he barked.

No response came from the house. Zaitsev tested the door to discover that it was locked.

"Coalition Army! Open up!" he shouted again.

"I don't think there's anyone inside, Major," one of his teammates muttered.

"Breach the door," Zaitsev ordered the man who had spoken. He briefly nodded, strode up to the door, and pointed his Clark 15B shotgun at the part where the handle joined the door, at the seam.

"Breaching shot!" the soldier called, before firing his Clark at the door twice in succession. With a front kick, the soldier forced the door open.

The hallway in front of them was barren and empty, with a fine layer of dust covering the floor. The hallway led straight from the front door to the back, and the other five of their team had apparently had to force entry as well. The implications were obvious: there was someone here who did not want to be found.

"Check the upstairs," Zaitsev ordered the other group, the leader of which nodded and directed his men up the stairs. For his part, Zaitsev directed his group into the kitchen of the house, which was dirty and badly kept. Used cooking appliances lay piled in the sink unwashed. The refrigerator was unplugged. All the electric lights were turned off, the only illumination in the kitchen coming from the window.

Suddenly they heard a commotion come from upstairs. Something crashed, a few voices shouted, a flurry of gunshots, and then silence.

Zaitsev opened a communication channel to a man on the upstairs team. "What the hell just happened!? Report in!" he barked urgently.

A panting voice replied "We found a group of three rebels up in the attic. They put up a fight and we took them out. We've got two wounded."

"Is the upstairs clear?" Zaitsev asked.

"As far as we can tell, sir," the soldier replied.

"Evac the wounded to the transport and give them whatever medical they need. We'll clear the basement," Zaitsev ordered, closing the channel and motioning to the four others with him. Stepping softly, they made their way through the house until they came to the basement door. Zaitsev again announced their presence and demanded entry, but nobody opened the door. Testing it, he found it was locked. Upon order, the same soldier with the Clark who had breached the front door repeated the routine.

Zaitsev had just been about to shine a flashlight into the basement and check for any presence there when gunfire from what sounded like a pair of SCAR 11 rifles boomed out, echoing around the subterranean chamber. The Major dived backwards from the door as bullets raked the space he had just occupied.

He didn't waste time with determining the number of hostiles. Signalling the four others with him, he muttered "Ready grenades". Five compact, cylindrical FRG-1 hand grenades sailed into the open basement door, where they each detonated in rapid succession.

The five Special Forces soldiers dashed out the front door and took cover behind one of the waiting Romanov APCs. Using his NetBat helmet computer, Zaitsev marked the house they had just exited with a holographic position marker and sent an order to the Battlewalker pilots.

_Destroy this location._

Immediately the two Walkers spun their turrets to face the building. Each one fired a full volley of four SWARM rockets at the building, following up with extended barrages from the twin autocannons mounted on the chin of the turret. Explosions boomed out as the two Bogatyrs reduced the building to rubble.

Zaitsev was almost feeling triumphant when a shot rang out from a building opposite the street from them and one of his teammates fell backwards, a hole in the faceplate of his helmet. The Major had barely started to yell "Shooter, across the street!" when the two Walkers unleashed their fury on the building that the shot had come from. And it was not only the Walkers that fired – the gunner in the other Romanov seemed quite willing to angrily blast the mortar launcher at the offending building.

One of the team medics had already ripped off the man's damaged helmet to discover an untidy hole in his left eyebrow. Looking grim, the medic said to Zaitsev. "Head shot, sir. Right goddamn through the brain. I'm sorry, nothing I can do."

Looking shaken, Zaitsev nodded and said to the remaining members of his team "All right, people, we're pulling out. This zone is too hot for us."

Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a large disc-shaped object with two handles on the sides and a small touchscreen interface on the bottom. Tapping a brief sequence onto the screen, he tossed the object to the ground, whereupon a small radio dish on the device snapped into an upright position, began to rotate slowly, and a sequence of electronic beeps emitted from the device. Satisfied that the beacon was working properly, Zaitsev and his team entered their respective APCs. The Major hailed the gunship on the NetBat and spoke with the pilot.

"Kobarov, this place is too hot for us. I want a strike on all the houses on that street," Zaitsev ordered the pilot.

"Copy that, Zaitsev," replied Flight Lieutenant Vasily Kobarov. Even before he had finished speaking, the sound of a TV-guided missile being launched filtered through the speakers in Zaitsev's helmet.

Zaitsev could only stare into nothingness recalling the events of the previous hour.

The four vehicles made their way to a PAC outpost base deep in occupied territory. While small, the base was home to a dormitory as well as many sophisticated communication devices. This particular area was one of the first sites of a major battle in Minsk, and the first area that the PAC had established a strong foothold in the previous year. As Zaitsev climbed out of the APC and started to make his way towards the dormitory, one of the outpost personnel came running up to him.

"Sir! Major Zaitsev, sir!" the young soldier panted as he caught up with the superior officer.

"What is it, Corporal?" Zaitsev asked.

"Your presence requested in the command post, sir. General Sousuke has new orders."

Zaitsev only had to hear the name before he was running at full speed towards the central command post building of the outpost, his tiredness forgotten. As he charged through the open door of the building, a large video feed image of Hoten Sousuke on the main view screen started to speak.

"Ah, Major Zaitsev, you're finally here. Excellent. Now then, I have a new update from High Command. Supreme Commander Petrov has ordered us to pull out of Minsk, and he's sending a dedicated occupation force to replace us," General Sousuke explained, resulting in many relieved looks and grateful noises from several of the assembled soldiers.

"And after that, sir?" asked an Infantry Commander.

"After that we get two weeks of well deserved R&R, and after that is yet to be decided," Sousuke chuckled, to a roar of appreciation from all in the room.

Zaitsev sighed in relief. With the update from General Sousuke, they were all officially off duty, which meant no more raids on supposed rebel hideouts, no more patrols, and no more fighting for the next two weeks. It was just as well for Zaitsev that Sousuke was returning to Minsk, it meant that he was preparing to ship his entire brigade back to Russia for the duration of their leave. That meant that the Major would have a chance to visit his family for a few days, something he had wanted to do ever since he'd been shipped to Minsk.

Zaitsev's reverie was broken by an enthusiastic voice calling to him "About damn time, wouldn't you say, Major?"

Zaitsev turned to face the voice, an Air Force Squadron Leader with an Indian look about him. He chuckled dryly and replied "We're not on duty anymore – call me Ivan."

The Squadron Leader smiled and nodded. Excusing himself from the miniature party that had started to take place in the command post, he made his way through the base towards the dormitories where he kept all his gear.

Being a Major as well as a Squad Leader, Zaitsev had his own private quarters. They were not large nor were they luxurious as the sort given to Field Marshals and Generals, but they were quiet and undisturbed by regular infantrymen. Zaitsev removed his combat gear and changed into a more comfortable off-duty-uniform. Gazing around his quarters, he contemplated packing his personal effects, but lacking the inclination to do so he simply fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9: War Preparations

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 9: War Preparations**

_Pan-Asian Coalition High Command, Moscow_

_January 28__th__, 2140_

Three sharp raps on the door of his quarters were all it took to shake Major General Hoten Sousuke's attention from the Advanced Combat Strategies Manual he had previously been immersed in. Carefully marking his page with a ribbon bookmark, he closed the book, crossed over to the door of his private quarters, and, after a brief glance through the peep-hole to verify the identity of his visitor, opened the door.

Supreme Commander Arkadi Petrov stood outside Sousuke's quarters, flanked by a complement of three Voss L-AR wielding honour guards. Dressed in white combat gear, they stood silently flanking the Supreme Commander, who stood out from them in his usual olive green attire. Sousuke snapped off a salute to Petrov, who returned it. The military formalities thus completed, Petrov spoke.

"I hope we did not disturb you, Major General?" he began.

"Not at all, Supreme Commander, I was merely studying tactics. Please, come in," Sousuke invited, stepping aside to clear the doorway.

"Perhaps not, Major General, there are some matters we must discuss, and a few things I would like you to see. If you would follow us," Petrov replied.

Sousuke nodded, and stepped out of his quarters into a hallway. Walking behind Petrov, with the honour guards to the left, right and rear of him, they made their way through the corridors and elevators of High Command. Those who saw them stopped to salute the two officers, and each time the officers would return the salutes without breaking stride. The company of the Supreme Commander, however, did not exempt the party from security checkpoints, which despite the inconvenience all five of them considered necessary. It was almost twenty minutes before they made it to the west entrance corridor of High Command.

One of the honour guards strode forward and held the large door open for his superior officers. As Petrov and Sousuke stepped through the open doorway, they nodded their thanks to the white-clad soldier. When the other two guards had strode through the door, the soldier followed them, taking up his previous position as the rear guard.

Supreme Commander Petrov's personal base transport vehicle, a modified UAZ-10 Lynx, sat waiting for the party of five outside the doorway. The Lynx was a larger cousin of the standard Ocelot FAV, and boasted room for seven people including the driver. The two superior officers climbed into the back seats, while their entourage sat in front. At Petrov's order, the driver began to drive them through the compound of High Command.

"Where are you taking me, sir?" Sousuke asked his superior, who turned and replied "You'll see." Then, leaning forward to address the driver, continued "Do you mind going a little faster, Warrant Officer?"

"Of course, sir," the driver replied, and the vehicle sped up immediately.

They continued their journey throughout the grounds of High Command, passing smaller, less decorative buildings, ones which were more directly combat-related such as armouries and motor pools. After a five-minute drive, the Lynx stopped outside a hangar. The building was huge, about the size of ten Standard-class Titans, and the five men who stood outside it were dwarfed by the metal behemoth.

One of the honour guards moved away from the group and keyed in an access code on a control panel on the smaller door to the hangar. With a pneumatic hiss, the door slid open, and the guard stood smartly to the side to allow his superiors to pass through first. Petrov stepped through the door first, followed by Sousuke, and the three guards brought up the rear.

"Dear God," Sousuke muttered, seeing the interior of the hangar.

Several Doragon gunships were parked in a row near the far wall of the hangar. Yastrebs were strewn around the inside, laden with supplies. But the most significant and stunning object in the hangar was the giant leviathan which rested peacefully in the middle like a sleeping Kraken.

The size of six Standard-class Titans arranged in a three-by-two rectangle, Command-class Titans were a marvel to behold. Their impressive size was enough to raise the morale of any ally who looked upon it, and strike fear into the hearts of any enemy. Their impressive size was not only superficial, as a Command-class Titan boasted the most weaponry out of all the Titan classes. On the underbelly of the Titan were an astounding twelve high-explosive cannons, while the topside had the most incredibly advanced anti-aircraft weaponry available to a moving vehicle – modified Rorsch Kz-27 AA turrets with combined flak cannons and EMP missiles. Eight of these turrets stood sentinel on the top deck. Also on the top deck were four pods of Phalanx-II Class HE-Air-to-air missiles, each pod holding an astonishing 64 missiles each. On the port and starboard flanks of the vehicle, five menacing railguns similar to the Rorsch MK-S8 jutted out of firing ports, five of them on each side of the Titan.

Sousuke took a moment to catch his breath before turning to his superior, and abandoning military formalities, gasped, "What the hell?"

Petrov grinned. "I take it you approve. _Imperial Lance _was built in 2137, never saw deployment. Until now, that is, because I have quite the idea about what to do with this beauty…" he trailed off, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on an object in his trouser pocket.

Sousuke turned to his superior and asked the question that had been playing on his mind for the past fifteen minutes. "What's all this about, sir?"

Petrov turned and smiled. "What do you think? This is your new Command Central."

Sousuke didn't quite register what the Supreme Commander had said for a full ten seconds. After those ten seconds, a whole database of emotions played across his face – excitement, confusion, exultation, disbelief and shock, to name a few. After a long while, the Major General turned to his superior and, failing to verbalize a coherent question, simply asked "…what?"

Petrov glanced at one of the members of his attaché, who brought to him an object which looked like the screen of a laptop computer. Approximately the size of an A4 sheet of paper, it had a row of buttons along the longer edge which seemed to be for navigation. A stylus was stored in a recessed groove along the right edge. The screen was dark.

"This briefing file should make everything. I suggest you familiarize yourself with it. One of my men will show you around the Titan. Please excuse me, Major General Sousuke, there are some things I must do around this compound," Petrov said, signalling the three honour guards. The one who had brought the file walked over to stand at General Sousuke's side, while the other two took up positions on Petrov's left and right. The two officers saluted one another, and Petrov left the hangar bay, flanked by his guards.

The guard who had brought the file turned to face Sousuke. "My name is Captain Aleksandr Ilyich Kirov, Major General. Please follow me, I will show you around the interior of the Titan."

Sousuke nodded and thanked the guard as he led his superior towards a long ladder which led onto the lower aft deck. Together they climbed the ladder, the white-clad guard leading the way. As they reached the top, Sousuke realized the full scale of what he was seeing: the lower aft deck alone could have comfortably supported a Standard-class Titan. The deck was clear of any cargo boxes or supply crates, and the large access doors to the cargo bay were wide open. Together the two men stepped through the access doors into the spacious cargo bay, which really was not a cargo bay. Five Doragon gunships and three Yastreb transports were lined up neatly inside the hangar, facing the open door.

"With regular Titans, the shield covering over the top of the hangar allows for an easier takeoff. But it also introduces problems with the enemy being able to shut down your aircraft by striking the shield barrier with EMP. It's harder to take off from a solid roof hangar, but since the roof is shielded against EMP, your pilots are safe during takeoff," Captain Kirov explained. Sousuke gave a nod, inwardly surprised at the young Captain's knowledge of such battlefield intricacies. He had always assumed that the position of Honour Guardsman was largely a ceremonial unit with little battlefield prowess. _Perhaps I need to rethink that, _he thought, as they walked further on in.

The hangar bay had, along its walls, six very sturdy looking doors of titanium and Kevlar, nearly a foot thick. They were apparently significant, as Captain Kirov led Sousuke over to one of them and tapped a ten-digit code on a panel next to it.

"On a regular Titan, you have the reactor console corridors protected by energy shields. That in itself presents a problem, because when your main shield goes down the Titan's systems will redirect power to try and recharge them. That power gets redirected from the corridor shields, which gives you a weak point in the internal defences – if you blow one console, another shield will go down, and so on and so forth until your core is wide open," Kirov recited, as the doors slid open. "On _Imperial Lance, _you have blast doors made of the same stuff as the external armour plating closing off each entrance. Nothing short of fifty packs of RDX is getting through that. And for the enterprising Euro who tries to actually _do_ that…" Kirov trailed off, tapping another sequence on the panel.

No sooner had he tapped five keys then ten doors in the ceiling opened and machines which resembled an SD-8 Accipiter mounted on a hydraulic arm revealed themselves from the openings.

"A-14 Ceiling Sentry Turrets. Works just like an Engineer's Enforcer turret, and packs the punch of a pair of Shukos. Intelligent targeting just like an Enforcer, too. Of course, all these defence systems can be controlled from the Command Centre," Kirov finished with a smirk on his face. With the console and hangar areas inspected, the white-clad Captain led them to the Reactor Core room.

The room which would normally have been occupied by a single transparent column with red energy in the middle was instead taken up by two huge cylinders with white arcs of energy pulsing inside it. A slightly smaller one stood behind the two large ones, with a standard column of red energy gently ebbing and flowing. And almost as an afterthought, a small core lay horizontally between the two large ones, cool purple light radiating from it.

"Yes, Major General, you are seeing this. There are two main power cores which keep the Titan and its shields operational, as well as a separate, smaller core for weapons power. The smallest one over there is for comfort appliances, such as the lighting and temperature control. Of course, from the Command Centre, you can redirect power from any of these cores to anywhere you choose," Kirov stated.

From the core room they walked into a small room which Kirov explained was the mess hall. A door to the starboard side led into an armoury laden with combat equipment and supplies. Sousuke noted approvingly that the door was constructed of the same blast-reinforced material as the reactor console corridor doors.

The tour progressed from stern to bow, bypassing several points of interest such as a few dormitories, a staircase leading downwards to a maintenance room, and a staircase leading up to the Commander's Quarters. Not deviating to check the different floors, the two servicemen made their way to the central brain of the Titan: the Command Centre.

As the heavy-duty double doors – also made of blast-plating – slid open, Sousuke's first thought was that this room was far more complex than any Superior or even Capital-class Titan he had ever commanded. The room was spacious in the middle, with various consoles lined up against the walls, their respectively linked aspects printed on the wall above them: NAVIGATION, ENERGY, DEFENCES, WEAPONRY. The largest terminal had a view of all four, and was labelled quite simply COMCENTRAL. This was from where the Commander's groundside assets such as Orbital Strike launchers, EMP Strike satellites, and the deployment of UAVs were controlled.

"Well, General? What do you think?" Captain Kirov asked him.

"It's…it's stunning, to say the least. The construction is almost exactly as I would have had it. What I can't understand is why Supreme Commander Petrov would simply _give _me command of this kind of firepower. I wasn't aware simply securing a victory in Minsk was enough to warrant this kind of reward…" Sousuke replied, appearing to be deep in thought.

"I'm sure the briefing Supreme Commander Petrov gave you will suffice to explain everything. With all due respect, General, I advise you read it thoroughly. It's quite a complex operation and needs great attention to detail," Kirov told Sousuke.

"I see. Thank you very much for everything, Captain. If you wish to take your leave of me, I'm sure you have many other duties to attend to," Sousuke said.

Captain Kirov appeared to think quickly for a second before replying "Actually, General, there is one more thing. A personal matter."

"Go on, then," Sousuke invited.

"Well, sir. Lately – and I'm sure you will wonder the reasoning behind my thoughts – lately I have expressed my desire to Supreme Commander Petrov to leave his personal security detail unit and be transferred back to a frontline combat unit. Originally, sir, I accepted the post because it offered a higher pay grade and I was thinking only of supporting my family. However, with the new program in place where the army provides welfare support for the families of those enlisted, I no longer need to provide for them as much. As such, I want to be transferred back to the front lines because I want to help the war effort directly, not just as part of – forgive me – a largely ceremonial unit," Kirov explained to a patient Sousuke.

"And how do I factor into this?" the Major General asked.

"At my last talk with Supreme Commander Petrov, he said that he was willing to allow me to leave his unit on one condition – that I offer my services to you, sir, and become a member of the II Command Division, which I understand you are the Commanding Officer of. I wish to join the command crew of the Titan _Imperial Lance, _with your permission, sir," Kirov finished, straightening his white uniform and standing up straighter.

"Hmm. You want to join the command crew? Have you taken a control officer examination?" Sousuke asked.

"Yes sir, two of them. Defences and Energy," Kirov said.

"What did you score on Energy?" Sousuke questioned further.

"Eighty-two percent," Kirov answered truthfully.

"Not enough by my standards, I'm afraid. Defences?" Sousuke asked.

Kirov looked more confident at this question. "Ninety-six percent, sir."

"Why the lost four percent?" Sousuke questioned.

"Difference of opinion and advocating radical tactics," Kirov stated firmly, his eyes locked with those of his superior.

Sousuke was intrigued. "Radical tactics won me Minsk. Tell me exactly what it was about," he ordered.

The Captain was only too happy to explain. "The given situation was that you are in control of a Superior-class Titan with shields down to 10. You are surrounded by four enemy gunships which are preventing you from launching any gunships of your own. The question asked for the best course of action. Supposedly the "best course of action" was to divert half power to shield recharge and half to engines and begin a fighting retreat."

Sousuke would have done the same, but he didn't make that known. He simply asked Kirov "And you would have done what?"

Kirov's eyes lit up as he recited, Sousuke thought probably verbatim, his answer. "I elected to call in an EMP strike aimed such that the warhead detonated on or above the roof of the Titan. The Titan is shielded against EMP, so its systems would not suffer. Before the warhead strikes, divert all power to 25 shields and 75 weaponry. When the warhead hits, the gunships will be disabled, and you could simply cut them out of the sky with the anti-aircraft turrets or the broadside railguns." Kirov recited.

Sousuke was shocked, or at least he thought that was what he was feeling. The tactic was not bad – in fact, Sousuke thought it was brilliantly innovative. It was a combination of the sheer audacity and the fact that he himself had not thought of it that caused him to feel his he did.

The Major General studied the young man in front of him. How was it, he mused, that an indisputable genius like this could have ended up being nothing more than a man who stood and looked impressive in the company of the highest ranking officer of the Coalition Army? How did it come to be that his test record had to be flawed because he had thought of something nobody else had even considered? Sousuke didn't believe in fate, but he did see in the Captain's eyes something which inexplicably called him to accept the young man into his division. A voice in the back of his head that told him it would be a decision he would always be thankful he had made.

Sousuke's face cracked into a proud smile as he offered his hand to the white-clad soldier, who grasped it gratefully.

"Welcome aboard _Imperial Lance, _Captain Kirov."


	10. Chapter 10: The Armoury

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 10: The Armoury  
**

_Outskirts of Verdun_

_January 29__th__, 2140_

Maxim Kosarkov sat in his private dormitory onboard Brigadier General Miyamoto Takiguchi's Capital-class Titan, the _Groznyj IX. _Ordinarily, soldiers of his rank were not given private quarters, but General Takiguchi had, over the course of two highly successful sabotages, come to realize that Kosarkov was far more than any other Lance Corporal Gold could ever aspire to be. Promotion to at least Sergeant had been more than forthcoming, but Kosarkov had declined the higher rank citing a lack of desire to be put into a leadership role.

Miyamoto Takiguchi, however, had not been about to let one of his most prized soldiers go unrewarded. And so, in addition to the private quarters, Kosarkov had been given not only a new knife – as he had requested – but also one of the first working prototypes of a new rifle designed for Special Operations and Covert Operations personnel.

It was this weapon which the entirety of his attention was focused on, as he turned it around in his hands. The weapon itself was a derivative based on the Lambert Carbine and Voss L-AR platforms, and was something of a cross between the two. The rugged durability of the Lambert had been combined with the skeletal, lightweight construction of the Voss to create a rifle that combined the better of the two. While the basic shape was similar to the Lambert, the top carry handle and optic sight had been removed, and a dual-sighting system much like the Voss' compound sight had been incorporated. The Lambert's often-criticised click-lock magazine had been abandoned, replaced by the more effective and easily reloaded side-mounted Voss magazine. The weapon itself had an auxiliary barrel which could accept the PK-74 AR-Rocket and Herzog AR-Shotgun ammunition, although it did not allow for magazine loading of those rounds: individual shots had to be chambered and fired much like the old underbarrel grenade launchers of the 21st century. The heavy Lambert stock had been replaced by a skeletal model similar to that of the Zeller-H Advanced Sniper Rifle, with an integral recoil dampener.

All these modifications resulted in a weapon that was accurate, powerful and fast firing, but also expensive, which was why only Special Forces Recon were to be issued the first models of them. Though Kosarkov was not strictly speaking a Special Forces Recon, Takiguchi had been influential and persuasive enough to have one of the prototypes shipped to Verdun.

Kosarkov now set the weapon down on the table and lay down on his bed. While he certainly appreciated the gift, it was not quite what he would consider useful. There was a distinction between Special Operations – even Covert Operations, and Sabotage. Kosarkov, more so than any other soldier, actually preferred _not _to carry a weapon with him, save perhaps a Malkov RK-11 or even just a standard Takao T-20. Shooting was simply not supposed to be a major part of his job – demolition was. Kosarkov considered himself a cross between Recon and Engineer – the stealth of the former and the anti-vehicle and anti-materiel capability of the latter.

He sighed and went to disassemble the rifle, knowing that even though it was not what he would have usually employed, a good weapon deserved to be treated as such. Separating the weapon into its major components – barrel, stock, trigger group, lower and upper receiver – he meticulously polished any sections with moving parts in them and applied oil to the bolt. With a special swab, he cleaned out the barrel even though he knew it was spotless – the weapon had never been fired in a combat environment before. The physical activity was welcome; it gave him something to do.

_Something to do _had been in short supply ever since Miyamoto Takiguchi had received the order from High Command to pull out of Verdun. The remaining forces were only serving as occupying forces, as Verdun, much like Minsk, was now PAC controlled territory. As the four Titans – one Capital, two Superior and one Assault-class – swept through the skies escorted by numerous Doragons and Yastrebs, the soldiers of the X Command Division which Takiguchi commanded were all left with nothing to do but keep their eyes sharp and their fingers quick.

As Kosarkov began to lean back on his bed, a knock came at the door of his quarters. Sighing, he crossed over to the door and opened it.

On the threshold stood the three latest additions – the term used _very _loosely – to the X Command Division. Two Iron Legion soldiers and a gun-for-hire.

"Heard you actually got it. Where is it?" the mercenary said, wasting no time with formalities.

Kosarkov knew exactly what he was talking about. "On the desk – go ahead," he replied. The mercenary crossed over to the desk and began to examine the new weapon. Turning to the Iron Legion men, he asked neither in particular what they were doing.

Vashkin was the one who replied by unslinging his Krylov FA-26 from his shoulder and showing it to the saboteur. "Welcome to CFOG," he began, pronouncing the acronym as 'see-fog'. When Kosarkov looked confused, he spelled out each letter before elaborating. "Customized Firearm Owners Group. A club for those who reject standard military issue firearms in favour of using their own weaponry, which in many cases is several times spiffier than aforementioned standard issue." Vashkin said all this with a completely straight face.

"What? You're kidding me, right? How many…members…have you got?" Kosarkov asked, half-jokingly.

"Well, if you join up – which you already have, since owning a custom gun automatically denotes membership – four," Sarov explained, cutting across Vashkin.

From the other side of the room, the mercenary, who had been inspecting the new rifle very closely, now interrupted the conversation. "This is a damn nice gun you have here. If I had two AKs, and not just the one which I will _never _let anybody else even _breathe _on – I would swap one with you for this. Shot it yet?"

"No…" Kosarkov began to explain, but he only managed to get that word out before the two others recoiled in horror.

"You have a bloody _prototype rifle _shipped to you _personally _and not shot it yet?" Vashkin berated the saboteur, "Never mind us, we're all just keeping the old school alive. _You, _however, have something hot off the assembly line!"

Sarov cut in before Vashkin drew breath to start a new sentence, "We're on a _Capital-class Titan, _for the love of God! Forget the EU, they're not worth the bullets this thing shoots. Let's go try the firing range!"

Kosarkov was powerless as they shoved the rifle into his hands and practically dragged him out of his quarters into the hallway. He kept making incoherent protests about trivial things like 'wearing out the internals' or 'just cleaned it', but they fell on deaf ears.

The party of four eventually made it to the firing range of the Titan. Kosarkov, who had decided to enjoy the experience as best he could, sighed when he noticed the large sign on the rear wall ordering 'NO EXPLOSIVES DETONATION'.

The mercenary crossed over to a crate of ammunition and removed a cardboard box of the same caliber ammunition used by the Voss L-AR. Setting it on a table, he opened the box to reveal several smaller boxes, each containing 500 rounds. Opening one box, he brought the ammunition over to the table where Kosarkov, Vashkin and Sarov sat around the rifle.

"Go on, load it up!" Vashkin encouraged the saboteur. Kosarkov complied and removed the empty Voss magazine from its recess on the gun's left side. Taking meticulous care to get the alignment correct, he began clicking individual rounds into the magazine until it was loaded to a full forty rounds.

Gripping the magazine by its handle just like he had seen Assault troops do it, Kosarkov slotted the loaded magazine back into its recess. The gun whirred and clicked as it automatically chambered the first round. Tapping a button on the side of the weapon, Kosarkov set it to semi-automatic and shouldered it exactly as he had been trained.

Aligning the red dot of the 2.5x optical sight onto the head of a target at the other end of the range, Kosarkov squeezed the trigger.

The weapon emitted a sharp _crack _as it spat a single shot out of its muzzle and into the head of the polymer-composite target. Despite the fact that it used the ammunition of the Voss and the internals of a Lambert, it sounded like neither, instead having a report like a quieter Bianchi.

Vashkin and Sarov were suitably impressed. "Zeroed right out of the factory. Somebody must really like you. Try the auto?" the former quipped.

Kosarkov tapped the selector panel again and set the weapon to fully automatic. He had read the instruction manual for it and knew that its maximum rate of fire was 720 rounds per minute – not quite as fast as the Voss, but faster than the Lambert. Supposedly that translated to having the control of the Lambert and the firepower of the Voss.

Shouldering the weapon again, Kosarkov resighted on the target, this time placing the red dot on its chest. Steadying his hands, he slipped the trigger back and fired an extended burst.

On rapid fire, the weapon sounded much closer to its original base weapon. The similarities, however, ended there, and dropping his aim, Kosarkov studied the target. The weapon's innate recoil had created a vertical line of holes from the target's chest up its neck and into its face, but the horizontal dispersion of shots was incredibly small – even more accurate than the EU SCAR 11.

Vashkin was stunned, Sarov disbelieving, and the mercenary had a single eyebrow cocked.

"You want this?" Sarov stammered, holding out his FA-26 to Kosarkov, "It's a classic. _Original _Krylov FA model. I'll trade you for that one. Please?"

"Back off, Grigori. Give the man some space," the mercenary admonished, glaring at his subordinate. Sarov took the hint and backed away, while the mercenary continued, "Incidentally, though, that thing shoots _damn _nice. Take good care of it. And no, don't give it to anybody."

Kosarkov had experienced a sudden epiphany upon firing the rifle. In his training, all he had done had been to fire old Krylov FA-37s on a firing range, or at fellow trainees using non-lethal training ammunition. Accuracy-wise, the guns had been subpar. _This _new tool, however, was different.

Kosarkov had never before felt empowered by a weapon, it was always his signature RDX that gave him battlefield confidence. But from witnessing the controllability and accuracy of his new assault rifle had made him reconsider his viewpoint on conventional weaponry. Perhaps he could learn to like shooting after all.

With much more enthusiasm he resumed his testing of the weapon's various features including its four-shot burst, the myriad of accessories including a silencer, Herzog ammunition, nightvision mode on the scope and countless other methods. The saboteur gave his three companions a chance to use the weapon as well. When they had exhausted their interest, Kosarkov bid them farewell and returned to his quarters.

It seemed as though it was mainly the company of his fellow soldiers that had made him so enthusiastic, for as soon as the door to his room had shut, Kosarkov laid the rifle gently on a table and began to work again on that more subtle, somewhat underhanded, but deadly effective profession of sabotage.

The design was one he had been working on for several days. It was simple in concept but complex in execution due to several factors. As he examined the plans, model, and prototype of his design, he began to think of changes.

He opened the door to his cupboard, and pulled out three pieces of a weapon. Combining them, he created the frame of an EU SCAR 11.

He smiled to himself as he opened a box of tools, and set to work on a few modifications.


	11. Chapter 11: Rallying Cry

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 11: Rallying Cry**

_Moscow, Russia_

_February 1__st__, 2140_

Despite the fact that he was not in a combat zone, nor was there a loudspeaker playing the Reveille Call, Major Ivan Zaitsev woke at the crack of dawn. The battle-hardened veteran cursed quietly – why was he so _unable _to enjoy the little time of peace he had left? The numbers 06:30 flashed on the clock on his bedside – _proper _bedside table, not simply a low-height metal box that served as a table and a chest. Knowing full well that he would not be able to get back to sleep, the Major climbed out of bed, his wife still sound asleep as she would be for the next hour.

The sun's first rays were sneaking through the crack formed by the curtains, and the light glinted off the dog tags which perpetually hung off Zaitsev's neck. Even when not in combat, he wore the tags everywhere he went – even while showering or swimming. They were as much a part of him as his own limbs. Without really thinking about it, he lifted one tag to eye level and read the writing lasered on its surface.

_PAC-AR-SPECFOR-REC_

_Zaitsev_

_Ivan Dimitryevich_

_15032109-26072131-625634-IZ_

His mind automatically parsed the shorthand code of the first and last lines. The first was his Armed Forces affiliation – Pan Asian Coalition Army Special Forces Recon. The fourth was his serial number, generated using four pieces of information. _15032109 _was his date of birth – the fifteenth of March, 2109. The second number, _26072131 _was the date he had enlisted in the army – 26th of July, 2131. _625634 _was an arbitrarily chosen unique ID number, and the final two letters were his initials.

How clinical and impersonal for a soldier who had given his entire soul to preserving the country he loved.

Zaitsev's morning routine, however, had changed significantly from army life. Upon awakening, he washed with soap and running water instead of the germicidal vapour jet which incorporated both into a high-pressure blast of mist. He had time to shave in the mornings as well, and ever since he had returned from Minsk he had been clean-shaven.

With his morning routine completed after a full hour of luxury, Zaitsev dressed in simple civilian attire – long, black cargo pants and a t-shirt. He made his way down the staircase leading to the ground floor of his house. All was silent.

The Major flicked on the television to inject some noise into the house. The channel was set to news, and the announcer was, as usual, commenting on the war.

"…_and we now have confirmation that the city of Minsk is completely secured by PAC forces. Local reports suggest there may still be EU forces located in the area, although their number and how much of a threat they pose to us still remain unclear. Meanwhile, in the city of Belgrade-"_

_Nothing new there_, Zaitsev thought, turning the TV off. As he stood up to make his way into the kitchen, he heard footsteps on the staircase. It was his wife, who had just woken up.

"Up so early?" she asked him, as she reached the foot of the stairs. Zaitsev's response was a dry chuckle and quietly humming the first bar of the Reveille Call.

"You know I have to keep myself ready, Anya. The army could come looking for me any time-"

_Knock._

Both their heads whipped around to the front door. Glancing at his wife, Zaitsev made his way through the living room towards the door and glanced through the peep hole. Outside on the doorstep was an official looking man dressed in formal military attire. The man, who had a Chinese look to him, wore the enamelled chevrons of a Sergeant Major of the Army.

Zaitsev didn't want to open the door. He didn't want to think that there might be a possibility of him being sent back to the front lines, or hear that someone he knew who had listed him as his next of kin had died, or whatever other news the Sergeant Major might have for him.

But as much as Zaitsev wished the man were not there, that he would disappear, he knew that it was both rude and a severe breach of protocol to ignore a fellow soldier. So it was with a sinking feeling that he unlocked and unbolted the door and pulled it open.

"Major Ivan Dimitryevich Zaitsev?" the Sergeant Major asked. Upon Zaitsev's confirmation, the younger man saluted, which Zaitsev returned.

"I'm sorry to bother you so early in the morning, Major, but there's an urgent message for you," the other soldier began.

"Not at all, Sergeant…?" Zaitsev trailed off to indicate that he didn't know the man's name.

"Xiang. Xiang Han Wei," he clarified. Aware that it was freezing cold outside, Zaitsev invited Sergeant Xiang into the house.

"Very nice place you have, sir," Xiang commented.

Anya, meanwhile, had noticed the newcomer's presence. Her eyes narrowed at him briefly, before she composed herself. Zaitsev took it upon himself to break the ice and introduced the two of them.

"Major, I've come to you with a package from General Hoten Sousuke. It is a mission briefing which you are to read and memorize as soon as possible. Your presence is requested at High Command today at 1300 hours, all the platoon commanders of the II Command Division will be in attendance. When you get to High Command, give this chip to the guard on duty. They'll direct you further," Xiang explained, handing Zaitsev a brown paper-wrapped package which was about the size of an A4 sheet of paper, as well as a data chip about the size of three fingers. Zaitsev accepted the two items with thanks.

"Thank you, Major. Have a good day. Oh, and General Sousuke apologizes for calling you out of leave so early."

Xiang excused himself and left the house, while Zaitsev was left staring at the two items he had been given.

"So soon?" Anya sighed, coming over to sit next to him on the couch.

"I don't like it any more than you do. I haven't spent as much time with Nikolai as I'd have wanted to, but…duty calls," Zaitsev replied.

"Whatever that is, is it classified?" asked Anya, indicating the package which Zaitsev had still not unwrapped.

"Most likely," he replied with a dry chuckle. His wife stood up and left the room to allow her husband privacy in viewing his secure documents.

As slowly as he could, Zaitsev eased one end of the paper wrapping open. He slowly but deliberately tore the rest of the paper off to reveal a thin cardboard box. Under its lid was a layer of protective foam padding, and under the padding, nestled on another layer, was a device which resembled a flatscreen monitor except it had no stand or any cables. On its long bottom edge were a number of buttons, with one prominent and round and two others identical with opposite-facing arrows. The entire assembly was the size of an A4 sheet of paper.

Zaitsev pressed and held the prominent round button, powering the device on. A built-in scanner read his fingerprint on the button and, recognizing the print, flashed green to allow him access to its contents. The screen of the device came to life and displayed the silver lotus flower on a green background – symbol of the Pan Asian Coalition Armed Forces.

Zaitsev pressed the  button on the device, and the screen moved onto the next page of the document. Soon enough, he was completely immersed in the briefing, taking in every detail.

_PAN ASIAN-COALITION ARMED FORCES_

_SPECIAL FORCES RECONNAISSANCE COMMAND_

_MISSION BRIEFING_

_for_

_MAJOR GOLD IVAN DIMITRYEVICH ZAITSEV_

_CLASSIFIED AND RESTRICTED INFORMATION_

"_**Operation Stormcloud"**_

_**Background Information:**_

_In November of 2139, the first expeditionary units were sent into the city of Belgrade. From their reports it was determined that the city held significant tactical value for our forces, being home to a major monorail hub as well as several EU bunkers and a fortress intolerance headquarters building. The expeditionary unit consisted of only one Division, the Northern Command Group under Brigadier General Nobu Sasaki. It has been three months since our forces first entered Belgrade, and they have been supported with periodic but minor reinforcements._

_**Current Situation:**_

_With Minsk and Verdun under Pan-Asian Coalition control, we now set our sights on the city of Belgrade. Its transportation and industrial assets are of great importance to us. We have thus drawn up the plans for OPERATION STORMCLOUD which will attempt to take Belgrade from EU control without causing major damage to its assets. Operation Stormcloud is the lead-on to our eventual attack on the EU Central Command in Berlin, which will be code-named OPERATION THUNDER._

_The major combatants in Belgrade currently are as follows:_

_**PAC:**_

_NORTHERN COMMAND GROUP under Brigadier General Nobu Sasaki_

_NORTHEASTERN SECTOR COMMANDER, Field Commissar Zhen Choy_

_NORTHWESTERN SECTOR COMMANDER, Commissar Fedor Spetzir_

_**EU:**_

_9__th__ ARMOURED CORPS under General Emil Nikoli_

_4__th__ MECHANIZED DIVISION under General Spencer Harrison_

_3__rd__ AIR CORPS under Airmarshal Jared Hargreaves_

_The X Command Division is already on its way to Belgrade to provide reinforcements to our forces._

_**The II Command Division**_

_The role of the II Command Division in this battle will be to enter the city from the East. The entire western edge of Belgrade is covered by a massive ice wall which has already swallowed much of the city. This wall will serve to block the Europeans' retreat._

_The presence of two enemy divisions which both make use of ground vehicles makes a strong anti-vehicular force necessary. As such, Special Forces Recon, Heavy Anti-Tank, and Sabotage units will be of vital importance. Equally necessary is the presence of strong air power to combat the EU's 3__rd__ Air Corps._

_MAJOR GENERAL HOTEN SOUSUKE of the II Command Division has been placed in command of the COMMAND-CLASS TITAN IMPERIAL LANCE, which will serve as the main base of operations and command post for the Division in Belgrade._

Zaitsev almost fell over in shock at this point. _Command-class? _He'd only ever seen photos of them – photos which either only showed one section of it or were taken from too far away to pick out minor details.

The rest of the briefing detailed attack plans involving trapping forces against the ice wall, as well as parameters for the operation. Having finished the document, Zaitsev laid it carefully back into its box and got up off the couch.

High Command would be an interesting experience.

--

_Pan-Asian Coalition Armed Forces High Command_

_February 1__st__, 2140, 1220 hours_

Major Gold Ivan Dimitryevich Zaitsev, dressed in the full formal military attire of a Special Forces Team Leader – a dark grey trench coat, black-and-grey garrison cap with a silver lotus flower pinned on the front, and on the left breast of the coat his various combat honours, medals and decorations – climbed out of the rear door of his hover-taxi. The vehicles used similar propulsion systems as the Type 32 Nekomata Battle Tank and experimental Type 36 Hachimoto speeder vehicle, which made for an incredibly smooth, frictionless ride. Leaning through the passenger window, he paid the driver his fare and told him to keep the change. The driver accepted the money with thanks, and drove off, leaving Zaitsev dwarfed by the huge, imposing behemoth that was High Command.

The gates leading into the compound were as decorative as they were functional. The door security was three-fold – a shimmering red shielding barrier like that found covering the hangar of a Titan was the outermost layer of the heavily guarded entrance. Behind the shield, two wire-mesh gates stood shut, each carrying a 50,000 volt charge of electricity. Behind that were simple doors of titanium alloy, each a foot thick. To the left and right of this entrance, a high wall made of Titan armour rose three metres above the ground, interrupted at frequent intervals by fifteen-metre high sentry towers. At each gate, two shining silver flagpoles rose into the sky, a rippling flag bearing the Silver Lotus at full mast of each.

Confidently, Zaitsev strode towards the closest entry checkpoint, his eyes locked on the guard box to the left of the fortified entrance. As he approached, a lone guard bearing a Krylov FA-37 and dressed in light armour combat gear came out of the guard box, which was also protected by energy shield and steel door.

"Can I help you?" the guard asked as he and Zaitsev reached conversation distance, then, as the former saw the Major's formal uniform and brass rank insignia, added to his question the honorific "Sir?"

"My name is Ivan Dimitryevich Zaitsev, Special Forces Team Leader of the II Command Division. I was told to be here at 1300 hours to meet with Major General Hoten Sousuke," Zaitsev explained.

"Yes sir, I've been informed about that…you have your identification tag with you?" the guard inquired.

Zaitsev withdrew the data chip he had been given from his jacket pocket and passed it to the guard, who retreated into the guardhouse to check its authenticity. Looking through the bulletproof glass window, Zaitsev could see the guard insert the chip into a reader slot on the computer and quickly scan over the data that was displayed on the screen. A light began to blink green on his console.

The speaker over the window came to life, and the guard's voice said "All seems to be in order, Major. You're clear to enter. There's a vehicle waiting for you on the other side."

As soon as he had finished speaking, the red glow of the shield dimmed and faded completely, a few motes of red light hovering in the air and shimmering before winking out. The two halves of the electrified wire fence slid apart to create an entryway, and the heavy titanium doors swung open away from the Major to allow entrance to the High Command compound.

The main building still looked as imposing as ever, its gray concrete and blast plating surfaces built for function rather than form. Even more Silver Lotus flags fluttered in the breeze, in permanent declaration that _this building is Pan-Asian. _Zaitsev gazed up at the tall building before a voice to his left broke his reverie.

"Major Zaitsev? Major, over here, sir!"

Turning, he saw a parked Ocelot FAV – noticeably without a top-mounted machinegun turret but instead a rack of missiles on the rear area where a passenger could have sat in a combat zone. Standing next to the Ocelot and frantically waving at him was a young-looking Private. Zaitsev approached the other man and up close, realized it was one of the members of his own Special Forces unit.

"Lividenko? You're part of the meeting too?" he asked.

The Private – Lividenko – chuckled and replied "Hardly. I'm just serving as a shuttle driver. General Sousuke's in one of the hangars, I suppose you'd be heading in that direction?"

Zaitsev checked his watch, it was 1235 standard hours. "Twenty-five minutes left. Can you give me a lift to the hangar? I don't know where it is."

"Yes sir, Major. Jump in."

Zaitsev climbed into the left-hand seat of the Ocelot, noticing a large viewscreen on the dashboard as well as a small joystick with thumb trigger.

His teammate noticed and said "Please refrain from launching any missiles, Major. The Supreme Commander may not approve."

"I wasn't planning to shoot any," Zaitsev replied, as the vehicle picked up speed, "Never seen these in action before. Prototype?"

"Prototype variant on the Ocelot vehicle. It's a UAZ-16 Mongoose MMLP – Mobile Missile Launching Platform," he explained. "Belgrade is going to be the trial run for them. Specifically designed to take out gunships. You see the missiles on the back? Tandem load."

"Tandem load? How?" Zaitsev asked.

"They've got a dual charge. First one EMP, second RDX. Nifty technology it is – _focused _EMP. Not the big blue explosions we always see, but actually a directed beam of EMP. Anyway, once you fire a missile – or seven, depending on how badly you want to shake up the Talon pilot – it's guided by heat signature. The missile flies its way over to the gunship until it's about two metres away, then the EMP charge blows. Proximity fuse, you see. But then, of course, this gunship is dead in the air, and the missile only has to fly another two metres before it slams into the gunship and goes boom."

The explanation was succinct and understandable, just the way Zaitsev liked it. And he even saw the logic behind the system's concept, and thought it was brilliant. "Clever", was all he said, but the Private knew his leader well enough to know that the single word spoke volumes.

Lividenko manoeuvred the Ocelot through the curving roads of High Command, dodging pedestrians and other vehicles. They passed several minor buildings – variously an armoury, a motor pool, a repair dock, and a communications tower. It was 1250 standard hours by the time the two of them reached the hangar. Zaitsev exited the vehicle, careful not to bump any of the controls. Lividenko did the same, and the two soldiers saluted each other once they were both standing upright.

"Good luck, Major. _When none other suffice_," Lividenko said.

It was the official motto of their Special Forces team, and Zaitsev repeated it back to the Private before making his way to the hangar. Looking back, he saw Lividenko answer a call on a radio, mutter a brief reply, climb into his vehicle and drive off at high speed.

Zaitsev turned back towards the hangar building and approached the door with a sense of trepidation. After all, he really had no idea what to expect on the other side. He inserted the data chip into a slot on the control panel which governed the door's locking mechanism, and after a two-second wait, heard a metallic clang indicating that the door was unlocked. It slid open, and Zaitsev stepped through the open doorway.

The Major promptly staggered back _out_ the doorway as he caught sight of the massive behemoth that occupied the bulk of the hangar's space. Nothing he had seen could have prepared him for the sheer mass of armour that was _Imperial Lance._ After about a minute to gather his wits, Zaitsev stepped back into the hangar and cautiously approached the Titan as if in fear that it might come alive and attack him.

"Funny, that was my reaction too. Don't worry, you get used to it eventually," a voice called out from Zaitsev's left.

The shaken Major nearly staggered again, but managed to compose himself and turn around to face the speaker.

"Kobarov?" he asked, surprised.

"Who else?"

Ever since the operation which had brought down the EU Titan _Arc Lightning, _Ivan Zaitsev and Vasily Kobarov had formed something of a double-act. More often that not, it was Kobarov's squadron that flew Zaitsev's team on their blitzkrieg-assaults in enemy territory, and more often than not it was Zaitsev who would man Kobarov's gunner seat and cut down enemy infantry or destroy enemy armour with ruthless precision.

"I thought it was only the squad leaders who were supposed to be here?" Zaitsev said, as the two soldiers approached each other.

"I got promoted. Wing Commander," Kobarov clarified, tapping the insignia on the point of his collar.

"Well done. So, where's the General?" Zaitsev was as efficient as ever, wasting as little time as possible on small talk.

"Up in the Command Centre. You're one of the last few to arrive, actually. We're supposedly waiting on two more people, and then we start the briefing."

Kobarov led Zaitsev up a flight of stairs into the Titan's hangar bay, and through a series of corridors until they stood facing the doors to the Command Centre. Reaching for a panel to the left of the door, Kosarkov tapped out an entry code, dictating the numbers out loud as he tapped them on the panel. The doors slid open.

"Major! How good it is to see you! Please, come in. Commander Kobarov, how many are we still waiting for?" the voice of Major General Hoten Sousuke called out from inside the room.

"Two more, not including Zaitsev here, General. Should I go back and wait?" Kobarov reported.

"No, no, I'd like to start the briefing as soon as the last one comes in. Kirov, would you mind waiting at the door?" he addressed someone out of Zaitsev's sight.

"Sir!" snapped the voice of Kirov. Zaitsev saw a man dressed in the ceremonial white garb of an Honour Guardsman step out from behind a computer screen and stride out of the Command Centre door.

"General Sousuke has an Honour Guard now?" Zaitsev whispered to Kobarov, who smirked and replied,

"Not quite, Kirov's a transfer. Left Supreme Commander Petrov's Guard for a frontline position. Being ex-Guard, he's still entitled to wear the uniform," Kobarov explained.

"Might help in the snow," Zaitsev replied.

Kirov came back in about five minutes later with two other squad leaders, both dressed in the uniform of an infantry officer. No sooner had they entered and sat down than Sousuke began the briefing.

"Welcome, Squad Leaders, and you have my thanks for attending today. As you will have no doubt read in your briefings, our next major operation is the liberation of the city of Belgrade. This briefing is to give you all a little more information on the operation which I could not include in the briefing document. Firstly, the opposition forces."

Sousuke pressed a button on a remote control he was holding. The large screen in front of the assembled leaders came to life, and displayed a prominent title: 3rd AIR CORPS. Beside the title was an insignia of the silhouette of a hawk grasping an old-style 20th century long rifle in its talons.

"The Third Air Corps. Belgrade's primary enemy air unit, and the one that's been causing the most damage to our current efforts their. The Third are damn good flyers, with damn good machines backing them up. Don't let the name mislead you, they've got deadly air-attack shock troops and paratroopers as well. Watch out for their leader – Jared Hargreaves is just as good a flyer as any one of them, and he _will _be in the air against us," Sousuke dictated, as the screen flashed up the more technical details of the Corps, such as their numbers, structure and major operating bases.

"Moving on," Sousuke continued after a few minutes. The image on the screen faded out, and was replaced by the title '4th MECHANIZED DIVISION'. Their manpower statistics, operational bases and structure began to scroll onto the screen as Sousuke spoke again.

"Fourth Mechanized Division. Mechanized doesn't mean heavy armour, but don't let that fool you. These guys have got APCs, FAVs, and even a few tanks at their disposal. They fight as either vehicle platoons, or vehicle-deployed infantry. Watch yourself with these guys. They deploy hard, and they deploy fast."

The screen faded out again, and flashed up the last slide which bore the title '9th ARMOURED CORPS'. Along with the unit name and insignia was a picture of their leader, and even though everybody had already read the briefing and knew the identity of the man, an aura of barely suppressed rage suddenly surrounded everyone in the room.

Sousuke himself was simmering, but years of deference to superiors and his own upbringing helped him to suppress the emotion as he said "the Ninth Armoured Corps. Led by General Emil Nikoli." And with those words, the anger in the room multiplied a hundredfold.

Emil Nikoli, better known among PAC circles by a combination of the most derogatory words that could be used to describe a man, had been one of the leaders of a prominent PAC Infantry Division, before he had mysteriously vanished without trace in Minsk in early 2139. It had been later revealed, through a communiqué from Nikoli himself, that he, along with his entire unit, had turned traitor to the PAC and joined the European Union Armed Forces. Since then, Nikoli and his unit had had an official bounty placed on them – an act which itself displayed the fury of the PAC High Command – by none other than the Supreme Commander at the time, Yuri Vladomirovic. Arkadi Petrov, upon his ascent to the rank, had not seen fit to remove the bounty, and until today, anybody who could bring proof that they had killed Nikoli or one of his men would receive a sizable monetary reward as well as a military decoration, even if they were civilians. Nikoli's face was now mostly confined to dart boards, bonfire fuel, and the official bounty posters put up by High Command.

"You all know this man," Sousuke called out, his voice shaking, "you've _served with him. _You know how he fights. And if any one of you takes the bastard out…I'll make sure you make Commissar for it. That I promise you."

The calmly spoken oath scared the assembled leaders more than any amount of rage could have. Sousuke had always been the spitting image of an honourable General, a commanding presence without being haughty or arrogant, a friend as well as a leader, and a man who respected the chain of command. Yet here, in front of his assembled subordinates, in the presence of those who were the metaphorical strength in his arm, he had just shown a more vindictive and vengeful side to him than anybody had ever seen.

In truth, it was somewhat to be expected. As a loyal and devoted soldier of the Pan Asian Coalition, Sousuke hated traitors. Absolutely despised even the idea that someone could so willingly betray their country.

"This is it, people. Muster your squads and rally your men. We leave for Belgrade in two days. Dismissed!"

Zaitsev's head was spinning as he stood up and left the Titan. Belgrade, he saw, was serious. Serious enough to be personal.


	12. Chapter 12: Tandem Strike

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 12: Tandem Strike**

_Streets of Belgrade_

_February 1__st__, 2140_

Routine patrol, they said. Just make sure the perimeter's safe, they said.

Run into a crack squad of Mechanized Division troops…they didn't say.

An Ocelot FAV exploded under a furious hail of bullets from an EU L-5 Reisig Battlewalker, taking two PAC soldiers out in the blast. The third, who had managed to avoid the explosion by jumping off, outlived his comrades for a few more seconds, before the Reisig saw him and he was cut to ribbons by its twin chainguns.

"Engineer! Blow that fucker up, will you!?" Arkadi Malkov screamed at a fellow PAC soldier who was hiding behind the wreckage of a BTR-4 Romanov and gripping a Pilum rifle tightly.

"I'd goddamn love to, sir, but I can't even look at the thing without getting shredded!" the Engineer shouted back over the din of gunfire and explosions.

Malkov cursed and opened a NetBat link to another element of his team. "Recon! Can you do anything about the Walker?"

The voice of a Recon Sniper replied through his helmet speakers, "We've got RDX planted on the road! We've blown most of them, but if it goes near one we can do some damage! Don't worry about the infantry, we've got them covered with snipers and mines!"

"How many more of your element are left?" Malkov asked.

"Two casualties. They're alive, though, we've got medics on them now. Nobody's dead, don't worry! The minefield can hold them for another hour or so!"

Malkov gripped his stolen Baur tightly. He had lost his Krylov when it he had dropped it to dive for cover from a grenade, and had been forced to take the Baur from a dead EU soldier. Leaning out of cover, he spotted an EU soldier and opened the weapon up, aiming for the chest. The heavy assault rifle had more kick than the regular Krylov, but its bullets were harder hitting, and the EU soldier seemed to throw himself backwards against the force of the hits.

Overwhelming gunfire assaulted his position, and he dived far back into cover behind the corner of the building. A salvo of three PK-74 rockets zoomed past the building and airburst, but he was unharmed by their blasts.

The ground shook underneath their feet, a steady, rhythmic pounding, and the PAC soldiers realized with a horrified understanding that the Walker was coming towards them.

"Shit! _Shit! _We need mines! Engineer, Motion Mines!" Malkov shouted.

"I'm all out, sir!"

Malkov opened the NetBat comm. "Commissar, what about those Orbitals?"

"Still recharging! Give them another minute!" Choy shouted back.

"I don't _have _a minute, sir, my men are _dying _out here! Give me whatever you've got!" Malkov screamed.

"Firing EMP!" Choy confirmed, and closed the link. Seconds later a bright blue bolt fell from the heavens, directly onto the advancing Reisig. The vehicle's legs jerked before standing completely still.

"That'll buy us some time! Fire the Pilum!" Malkov ordered.

The Engineer with the Pilum stood up and locked the weapon's sights on the immobilized Battlewalker, while everybody else gave him cover fire. The Engineer fired the Pilum, and a high-speed explosive projectile streaked through the air and struck the Walker in the upper left leg joint. The PAC soldiers cheered.

"Malkov! Listen up!" the Sniper Leader barked through the comm. "That Walker is standing right in front of an RDX cache! If you can get it to move forwards just a bit more, I can take it out!

"Got it!" Malkov acknowledged. Then, to the five men with him – "You heard the man! Lead the Walker this way for a couple more metres! Let's use that Ocelot! Volunteers?"

The Engineer with the Pilum and a Support soldier with a Shuko acknowledged the request. The Support man climbed into the driver seat of the Ocelot which sat unmoving about ten metres away behind cover, and the Engineer climbed into the back seat.

"Prepare to blow the cache, Recon," Malkov advised the Sniper Leader on the NetBat. The leader confirmed, and Malkov signalled the two-man Ocelot crew.

The Support man slammed the accelerator downward and the Ocelot shot out of cover into the main street. The Walker was just beginning to recover from the EMP strike, and saw the Ocelot. Slowly, it began to stomp forwards, its chainguns slowly coming to bear on the speeding vehicle. The Engineer on the back of the Ocelot fired another Pilum round which struck the Reisig in the turret, doing little damage to the armoured surface.

Its driver supposedly affronted by the assault, the Walker began to chase the Ocelot, now completely recovered from the EMP. Its chainguns spun.

Amid the chaos of the battle nobody could hear the single Zeller shot which boomed out from an upper window of a building overlooking the street, but the immediate aftermath of the shot was felt by all. The hidden cache of five packs of RDX explosive detonated from the bullet's impact, right next to the Walker. Its entire right leg was consumed in the blast, and the extreme heat made its fuel storage ignite, causing the entire Walker to explode in a shower of twisted, visceral scraps of metal.

"Hell yeah! That's what I'm talking about!" the Sniper Leader exulted. Behind him, the two other soldiers designated as his spotter and rear guard cheered.

The loss of the Walker had rallied the PAC ground troops and demoralized the EU, and it now seemed that the PAC had started to regain some ground. The Recon Snipers in the buildings were helping greatly, keeping the EU uncertain and halting their advances with well-placed sniper shots. The minefield had started to thin, however, and the EU were quickly finding paths through it.

Arkadi Malkov, for his part, was still bunkered down behind the same building, holding off the EU. The Ocelot which had helped to take out the Walker had been destroyed by a Groundhog, leaving them with only one Support soldier and no more Engineers. The Support soldier's crate of supplies was almost empty, and their gunfire was starting to slow.

"Damn it, we can't hold them off much longer," Malkov muttered. Then, into the comm system "Commissar, Orbital on marked location!"

"Copy that," Choy replied, "awaiting marker."

Quickly, Malkov dived out of the cover of the building corner behind the wreckage of a Romanov. He activated a small laser designator on the side of the Baur, and pointed it towards a Groundhog APC which was blasting mortars at nearby buildings.

Choy had received and confirmed the marker, and barked "Firing Orbital Strike!" into the comm systems. Seconds later, the deafening whine and crash of the falling high-explosive cluster shells started to resound throughout the streets of Belgrade, decimating the EU forces.

"Quick! While it's still falling! Relocate to the higher ground and establish a base of fire at the statue!" Malkov barked.

As the shells decimated the EU forces, the PAC ground troops broke cover and made a mad dash over to the hill opposite. As they ran for the staircases, the Support soldier among them was hit in the chest and thigh twice. The man crumpled to the ground, screaming for a medic.

"Goddamn!" shouted Kasudo Hatusa, from his cover point behind the staircase leading to the top of the hill. Without waiting for order or confirmation the Japanese soldier dashed out from his bunker and sprinted over to the fallen soldier, his Voss rifle spraying indiscriminate cover fire in the general direction of the EU forces. Reaching the downed man, Hatusa draped him over his shoulder and reloaded the Voss, firing another magazine's worth of ammunition to deter the EU as he delivered the wounded man to safety.

Arkadi Malkov had already set up a medical hub ready for supplies to treat the wounded man, and together they gave him oxygen from a compressed air canister, sealed his wounds with spray-foam, and jolted his frame with a defibrillator. The man coughed, spat out a mouthful of blood, and staggered to his feet.

"Thanks. I owe you one," he gasped, leaning on his Shuko LMG for support. It was still loaded, so he aimed it towards the EU and fired off an extended burst until the anti-overheat mechanism kicked in and locked down the firing system. With their new position secure, the PAC ground troops began to affect a much stronger resistance against the EU.

--

"The bloody hell is going on down _there?" _asked the mercenary, slapping a magazine into the well on his AK-47. In charge of their Patrol Titan's visuals, Alexei Vashkin was the one to answer.

"Looks like a skirmish. Our men near the statue versus EU every-fucking-where else. Should we lend a hand?"

"You had to ask that? You didn't feel it was your _patriotic duty?" _the mercenary shot back.

"Unfortunately it's my duty to my captain and not my country that dictates what I do in a combat zone. Do you feel it's your _contractual obligation?" _Vashkin quipped.

The mercenary cocked an eyebrow. "Sarov! Ready the missile pods and fire a double salvo. Set a firing solution that doesn't hit the monorail lines or our ground troops."

"Calculating…done. Firing!" Sarov reported, as he keyed the respective commands into the weapons console. The small vessel shuddered as six missiles blasted out of the pods mounted on the vehicle, and then shuddered again shortly afterwards as the second salvo launched.

"Keep this thing in the air, I'll go down and help our lot clean up," the mercenary ordered, as he chambered his AK and sprinted out of the Command Centre.

--

The noise of two loud explosions about two seconds apart from each other still rang in Malkov's ears. Smoke and dust hung suspended in the air, bullets tearing through the dirty cloud and creating streaks of light.

"Commissar? Was that you?" Malkov asked, referring to the two missile salvos which had just rained down with scalpel-like precision onto the attacking EU forces.

Choy's voice replied through the helmet speakers. "No. We've got no Titans operating in that location. Might have been one of Takiguchi's men."

"Look up!" called Hatusa, pointing at something high in the sky.

Malkov followed the direction he was pointing in. Suspended in the clouds and at the end of the twelve smoke trails, was a small vehicle about half the size of a Standard-class Titan.

"Reinforcements! Finally!" the Support soldier cheered, punching his fist in the air.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a single Assault pod jettisoned from the Titan's starboard side. Just one.

"Oh, fuck it all!" the Support man shouted.

--

The mercenary struck ground on top of the monorail line, causing a deafening bang which echoed through the streets of Belgrade. As soon as the sides of his pod split from each other, his AK was up and he had picked out his first target. Without pausing to verify his aim, he pulled the trigger. His rifle boomed as it sent a flurry of seven shots towards the EU soldier. The man fell back, his rifle firing wildly into the air as he collapsed on the ground.

Noticing the new threat, the EU started to fire at the mercenary, who threw himself down flat on the monorail line for cover. The sides of the train line shielded him from the oncoming bullets, and without attempting to discern the locations of his enemies, he pointed his AK over the edge of the train line and expended the rest of the ammunition in the magazine.

The EU fire slowed as some of the shooters ducked behind cover. The mercenary used the opportunity to reload the AK and shift into a crouching stance, directing accurate bursts of fire at exposed EU targets. Two fell to his shots.

Deciding that the monorail line was inadequate as a firing position, the mercenary jumped off, a snowdrift breaking his fall. He stood up and dived behind a park bench which sat against the almost sheer wall which formed the side of the hill.

He was just about to spring out of cover and direct fire at a bunker of EU personnel when said bunker exploded.

--

Maxim Kosarkov allowed the detonator remote to drop from his hands as he panted, trying to recover his breath. During sabotage assaults such as this, the final run _away _from the base was always the most nerve-wracking because of the persistent thought that if he was captured or killed now, all his hard work would have gone to waste.

Admittedly this had not been much like his other missions – the assault rifle with the still blisteringly-hot barrel was proof of that. Unlike any other sortie he had performed, this time he'd gone in literally guns blazing.

And it had paid off. The EU, having lost about eighty percent of their forces, had already begun to retreat. He could see them now from his vantage point out of an upper building window, their Bandits leading what they would have called a 'rearward charge', with their single remaining Groundhog close behind. Infantrymen were fleeing on foot or hanging onto vehicles, some firing rifles wildly in the hope of deterring pursuers. Sniper fire from a few alcoves harassed the fleeing infantry.

Victory.

For now.

--

"What the-?" the mercenary muttered, looking up from the bench he had kicked over for cover. Smoke filled the air and rubble surrounded the remains of a quickly set-up firing post, broken supply crates and sparking personal energy shields strewn about the scorched, blackened street. Just from looking at the blast, the mercenary knew-

"Consistent with RDX detonations…" he muttered.

--

"The bloody hell just happened?" Hatusa asked. While the question was not really rhetorical, nobody answered him. Mostly because they were wondering the same thing.

"Commissar-" Malkov began, but Choy cut him off.

"No, that wasn't me either. The blast patterns look like RDX. One of the snipers?"

"This is Corporal Hirohito, Sniper Element second leader," replied a soldier from the Sniper Team, having heard their conversation "Wasn't us. There were no caches in that area."

"Corporal?" Malkov asked, "where's the Sniper Leader?"

"He's dead. Bastards got his nest with PK-rockets," Hirohito replied.

"Damn! Then who the hell blew up that bunker?" Malkov barked, casting the question to the winds.

Rapid footsteps, the sounds of somebody running, came from the southern staircase. The remaining ground troops, numbering roughly four, whirled around to face the source of the sound with their guns up and ready. As they waited, a man in a long trench coat with shaggy hair and gripping some outdated rifle came into view.

"Put those down, boys. If I wanted you dead you'd already be. In any case, my money's coming from your side," the men muttered. As he spoke, he unloaded and slung his rifle as a gesture of goodwill.

Malkov was unsure what to do, but seeing as the man had just supposedly blown up an EU bunker, decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He lowered his Baur, and signalled the other ground troops to lower their weapons too.

"That's more like it. Now then, tell me what you're doing here."

Malkov, as the leader of the group, took it upon himself to answer. "Sergeant Gold Arkadi Malkov, Alpha Squad under Field Commissar Silver Zhen Choy. We were sent here on a patrol to make sure the outer perimeter was safe…and seemingly it wasn't. We were locked in combat with the EU until your Titan dropped those missiles and you blew up that bunker."

"Bunker? I didn't have hell to do with the bunker. I thought that was you," the mercenary said.

"If we had that kind of firepower? We would have won the battle before you showed up. You don't have any SpecOps-Recon with you?"

"Do I look like a SpecOps commander to you, boy? If I had SpecOps with me they'd be _here _showing off their Lamberts and doing some secret handshake plus nonsensical catchphrase. I didn't blow up that bunker and I don't know-" he stopped speaking abruptly, appearing to be deep in thought for a second. A grin crossed his face after a few seconds and he muttered, more to himself than to the Alpha soldiers "…that sneaky bastard."

As if on cue, a low humming noise filled the air. As the Alpha men turned in the direction of the noise, an odd vehicle drifted into view up the northern ramp. It had no wheels, but instead four hover pod engines much like the Nekomata battle tank. A gunner seat which bore was looked like an automatic grenade launcher lay at the back of the vehicle, a gunner who used it would have been exposed. Inside of it sat a lone man, shielded from the front by a bulletproof windshield but totally exposed from the sides.

"Type-36 Hachimoto land speeder?" breathed Hatusa.

The vehicle slowed and gradually dropped to the floor as the driver slowed down the engines. The man who stepped out wore PAC insignia and registered as a PAC soldier on NetBat, but his attire was a dirty greyish-white, unlike the dark grey and black of a regular PAC soldier's uniform. The man removed his helmet, revealing a pale, gaunt face with dark eyes and close-cropped black hair.

"Kosarkov, you sneak! Why didn't you tell me you were in the local sector?" the mercenary cried, striding forward to meet the saboteur.

"Because I wasn't. I never even knew we had men on the ground here. I was returning from an op in the west zone when I saw a shitload of EU firing at I-don't-know-what. I decided it would have been in the army's best interests to blow them sky high."

"Damn right it was. You pretty much saved our lives, Lance Corporal," Malkov interjected.

"No problem at all, Sergeant…?" Kosarkov trailed off, unsure as to his superior's name.

"Malkov. Arkadi Borisovich Malkov," the Sergeant clarified.

Kosarkov cringed inwardly. Taking a higher-rank promotion and its associated leadership role would almost have been worth it if he didn't have to pretend to respect some regular army _fool _like this Malkov who supposedly couldn't get himself out of a FUBAR situation without damn near divine intervention.

However, chain of command was chain of command, Malkov was higher in said chain than Kosarkov, and the latter had to respect that. Both soldiers snapped off quick, almost casual salutes to each other before getting back to the situation at hand.

"Now what the hell do we do from here?" the mercenary asked nobody in particular.

Malkov was the first to answer "I need to take my survivors back to the _Kastav _and report to Field Commissar Zhen Choy".

"That's one. What about you, my sneaky little friend?" the mercenary asked Kosarkov.

"I'm on free rein. Takiguchi thinks I'll be more useful out in the field acting as a lone wolf than sitting in a Titan waiting for him to plan an op," the Saboteur said.

"Fair enough. I suppose we better get soldier-boy and his team here back to their commander," the mercenary said. Activating his communications, he barked "Vashkin! What's the closest possible LZ to my location?"

"Top of the building. I can put this thing down on the roof, no problem," the Titan pilot replied.

"Do it," the mercenary ordered. With that, he closed the comm link and strode into the building on top of the hill near the statue, Alpha squad following behind. Kosarkov stood and watched them go before striding over to his Hachimoto, activating its hover drives, and speeding away to continue aiding the war effort.

It was minutes before the Patrol Titan landed on the roof of the office building. The mercenary and Alpha were already waiting, and with Sarov's help they all boarded the Titan through one of its access ladders. The vehicle began to hover higher and higher before gliding forward, leaving behind a scorched, devastated land where moments ago, more than fifty men had lost their lives.


	13. Chapter 13: Solo

Comrades in Arms

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 13: Solo**

_Belgrade, Western sector, outskirts of EU control zone_

_February 1__st__, 2140_

Captain Gold Dylan Ashe of the EU's 3rd Air Corps was just climbing into his Talon for a ground-strafe operation against a PAC forward command post, when his head exploded. The decapitated Captain swayed a bit on the ladder before he pitched forward into the cockpit of his vehicle, legs still hanging over the side.

His Talon had been in the process of being refuelled, and a second shot quickly followed up the first. This one struck the refuelling line, causing it to leak and spray high-pressure oil everywhere. The technicians scrambled for cover as the fuel sprayed and coated all nearby exposed surfaces.

A third bullet struck the Talon in its rear left landing strut. The metal sparked from the impact, the sparks hit the oil, and everything in a five-metre radius went up in flames. In this case, "everything" included people.

Precisely 1,732.42 metres away by laser rangefinder and elevated approximately 50m from the chaos, Maxim Kosarkov released a breath and relaxed his grip on the high-powered Zeller-H Advanced Sniper Rifle. Without looking away from the scope, he thumbed the rifle's magazine release catch.

"Now I'm out," he muttered to himself. The Zeller only held three rounds per magazine. His movements deliberate but not too slow, Kosarkov slipped another three-round magazine from a pouch on his right thigh and pushed it into the Zeller's magazine well until the locking mechanism clicked. The rifle's mechanisms whirred forward automatically, chambering the first round.

And he had his power back.

It was a feeling which happened to all snipers – for that matter, anyone who even handled a sniper rifle. There was an unspeakable amount of empowerment from having a scope so powerful you could pick out the threads on an enemy soldier's patch, at such a range that his bullets would fall short of coming close to you.

Three shots. Limitless kills.

For as long as one shot remained in the chamber of the rifle, Kosarkov had power. The power to decide which life to take, and how, and how quick he would make the death.

With ammo in the chamber, the sniper was God.

His mind back in the present, Kosarkov sighted the rifle on a pilot who had successfully climbed into his Talon and who was now starting the takeoff routine. The rat-bastard intended to get himself up in the air where he and his gunner would probably expend half their ammo strafing the surrounding area hoping to catch Kosarkov with deadly machinegun fire or rockets.

The hell that was going to happen.

_THOOM! _Kosarkov's finger slipped back, the Zeller barked, and let fly the first round of the new magazine. It punched through the side cockpit window of the Talon and hit the pilot in the side of the head. Red blood splattered on the inside of the opposite window.

The pilot had managed to bring his Talon in a hovering position, but as the round drilled a hole through his head, he slumped forward, pushing on the control joystick. The Talon pitched forward and slowly performed a sort of forward flip before its engines were upside down. They drove the Talon into the ground at full force, and the vehicle exploded, taking care of the pilot, his gunner, and two surrounding ground crew.

One shot, four kills.

Kosarkov now pulled the magnification of the scope back a little so he could see more of the battlefield at a time. More of the Talons were starting to take off, more than he could easily engage before they became a problem.

This was where his other role came in handy.

In addition to being a scout sniper and Special Forces soldier, Kosarkov was also fulfilling a duty as an advance co-ordinator. It was his job to direct the heavy Orbital Strike missiles and EMP cannons which would aid the war effort. PAC was only fielding one co-ordinator in Belgrade, and that was Kosarkov. Co-ordinators were used to pinpoint exact locations for heavy weaponry in places where Commanders might not notice because of their altered view of the battlefield. Commanders could still wield their assets at their own discretion, since co-ordinators were actually assigned their own EMP batteries and Orbital launchers.

Kosarkov engaged an infrared laser rangefinder on the side of his Zeller and opened a communication channel to his support personnel.

"EMP, marked point."

The sentence was a request as well as an order. In terms of seniority, his support staff – who were located onboard Miyamoto Takiguchi's Capital-class Titan – outranked the field soldier. However, they were themselves under orders to grant Kosarkov's requests without question and to fulfil them in any case.

"Firing," replied a voice on the other end. He spoke Russian, and had the accent of a native speaker.

Seconds later, a bright blue bolt of electromagnetic energy fell from the skies and impacted on the ground in the middle of the rising Talons. Their engines died simultaneously, the blue incandescent propulsion gas winking out. The ones which were higher in the air fell and exploded, while the ones closer to the ground were luckier.

For a second.

The pilots of the machines which had not gone up in flames found heavy, armour-piercing sniper bullets punching through their windshields and into their brains.

Another spent magazine fell from the Zeller.

One Talon had escaped the EMP and was now hovering in the air, uncertain as to the location of his assailant. The black gunship flew in circles, occasionally firing a rocket or two at locations where the pilot assumed his enemy might be.

One impacted perilously close to Kosarkov, so close that his scope was sprayed with snow and the sniper himself was buried under even more of the white powder that he had dug into for concealment.

"And now I'm pissed off with you," the saboteur muttered.

He slung the Zeller onto his back and engaged his active camouflage. Crawling out of the hidey-hole he had dug, he made his way back to his vehicle, several metres away under a camouflage tarpaulin.

The vehicle was the same Type-36 Hachimoto land speeder which had come to Arkadi Malkov's rescue a few hours ago. Like the position of the man who piloted it, the vehicle was the only one of its kind operating in Belgrade. The unit was not even a proper, production Hachimoto, but a prototype which Takiguchi's influence and persuasion had saved from the crusher and brought to Belgrade for his advance co-ordinator's use.

As it was, the vehicle now functioned and Maxim Kosarkov's mobile outpost. It was stocked with plenty of ammunition for all his guns – Zeller rifle, his special assault rifle and various other sidearms which he carried – plus a few crates' worth of his signature RDX explosive. When he found a safe place to park it, Kosarkov even slept in the vehicle in situations where it was impractical to make a return journey to base.

And, of course, the vehicle was well armed.

Kosarkov climbed into the rear turret, which fired TV-guided missiles similar to the ones on gunships. He aimed the turret in the general direction of the circling Talon and waited until its tail was presented to him.

Then he fired.

The missile screamed out of the turret and streaked away from the vehicle. Quickly, Kosarkov engaged the controls of the turret so that he could remotely pilot the missile. Deftly, he eased the control joystick so that the missile was always flying towards the gunship above.

The Talon was broadside to the missile when it was just about to hit, and through the missile's nose-mounted camera, Kosarkov saw the pilot notice the incoming projectile, jerk in shock and attempt to pull back his joystick for an evasive manoeuvre which failed. The missile slammed into the right engine of his Talon and blew the pilot and his gunner to oblivion.

Kosarkov leapt lightly from the turret controls and settled back into the visible spectrum. He wasn't even breathing heavily.

Fifteen minutes. One airbase out of commission.

He was starting to slip.

Kosarkov climbed into the driver seat of his vehicle. He slammed his palm onto the large red button which bore the word START in Cyrillic lettering. A combat zone was no place for soldiers to be hunting for keys, so all the PAC's vehicles had neither manual locks nor key-ignition. Of course, they did have security measures – vehicles would lock down if they did not detect PAC IFF tags in their immediate vicinity, preventing them from being stolen by EU personnel.

The saboteur expertly drove the hovercraft towards the base he had just assaulted. He sped over snow and tarmac, but the feel of his ride never changed. The vehicle simply glided frictionlessly over the war-torn lands. A true all-terrain vehicle.

As he neared the outer reaches of the airbase, he deactivated the vehicle, retrieved his special-purpose assault rifle and, holding it in a ready position, entered the base on foot. Fires raged everywhere from the spilled fuel and the explosions of the vehicles, and for half a second his display systems flickered with odd colouring and fuzzy artifacts around the edges of objects. Residual effects from a nearby EMP blast. They disappeared about two seconds later and did not return, his helmet systems having automatically shielded themselves against the electromagnetic pulse.

"This is Kosarkov. Base is neutralized. Advise, over," he snapped into his comm systems. Takiguchi himself replied a few moments later.

"Too far into enemy territory for us to occupy. Bring it down," the General replied.

A grim smile flitted across Kosarkov's face. "Yes sir. At once," he said, cutting the transmission.

He moved back to his vehicle, retrieved a few packs of RDX, and set to work sabotaging the airbase. Wherever there was a structure, like a closed hangar or a communications tower, Kosarkov would plant RDX in positions where they would do the most damage. Along the way, he encountered EU stragglers who attempted to resist him, and of course he took them down with ruthless efficiency. The rifle really was changing him. In the past, he would have attempted to sneak past them using active camouflage or at the very most quietly assassinate them using a knife or silenced Takao. Now he was filling them with lead from a fully-automatic rifle like some manner of special operations soldier.

Damn refreshing change it was.

After sabotaging all the covered hangars and the communications tower, Kosarkov made a trip back to the refuelling station. He poured some fuel into a few jerry cans which he kept with him for his own vehicle, and, after a brief refuelling, hopped into the Hachimoto and drove off.

Once he was a clear distance away, he blew the RDX.

Kosarkov had used nearly thirty packs of the explosive and their combined destructive power was incredible, toppling the entire communications tower and bringing down all the covered hangars. He watched with a grim approval as the tall tower slowly toppled over, and the hangar roofs caved in.

The Hachimoto sped off from the destroyed airbase, as Kosarkov finally decided to return to the Titan.


	14. Chapter 14: Midship

Comrades in Arms

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 14: Midship**

_Outer borders of Belgrade, PAC-EU control zone border_

_February 2__nd__, 2140_

One would never think it to look at him outside of a combat zone, but Major General Hoten Sousuke was damned energetic when it came to bridge command.

_Imperial Lance _had just arrived at the outermost sectors of Belgrade, in a position that entered into EU controlled territory. The Europeans quite obviously had not taken kindly to the arrival of a Command-class Titan and its associated fleet of support vessels into their territory, and after verbally warning Sousuke's fleet to leave or be fired upon (a threat which Sousuke had responded to with some choice language) sent two Superior-class Titans to intercept the _Lance._

The Superior-class Titans had arrived half an hour ago. Sousuke had given the order to fire as soon as they had come into visual range. The two Titans had weathered the missiles and railgun shots to close to boarding distance, where the Assault Pods launched from one could quite easily reach the other.

That no Assault Pods had yet been launched was due to the fact that all three Titans still had significant percentages of shield power remaining.

"Navigations! Bring us about so our portside faces them! Weaponry, prepare the portside railguns for sustained volleys! Fire on my mark and only stop firing on my mark!" Sousuke barked.

The relevant personnel responded "Aye, Commander!" and executed the necessary commands to prepare the Titan's generators, weapons and engines for the order. _Imperial Lance _began to move forwards very slightly and turn right sharply.

"Defences, status on our shields!" Sousuke snapped.

"Seventy-two percent capacity, Commander. Draining zero point five per each of their missile impacts!" reported Kirov, manning the Defences consoles.

"Tolerable. Energy, reroute quarter power each from shields to railgun charge and engines. Weaponry, acquire firing solutions to fire portside guns at the closer of their ships!"

The addressed crewmen responded affirmative and furiously flipped switches and tapped consoles. The weaponry not controlled directly by Sousuke –namely the top anti-aircraft turrets and the bottom high-explosive cannons – fired continuously to deter incoming troop transports and gunships, their fire directed by individual Engineer personnel manning weapon consoles.

The officer at Navigation barked a report. "In position, Commander! Portside is presented to the enemy!"

Sousuke was not able to acknowledge that before the Weaponry officer barked "All portside railguns hot! Firing solutions acquired! Ready on your mark, Commander!"

"Roger that! Fire port guns according to solution! Stagger shots and keep continuous fire on them until their shields break!" Sousuke ordered.

"Firing!" was all that the Weaponry officer said before flipping a single switch. The Titan shuddered to starboard rhythmically as the railguns steadily fired rounds at the closer of the two incoming Titans.

"Scramble gunship bays one through five! Destroy their anti-aircraft turrets!" Sousuke ordered over the COM.

Inside the gunship bays, pilots and gunners sprang to life, jumping into cockpits and activating engines. From _Imperial Lance's _aft end, ten gunships took to the skies and soared towards the EU Titans, weapons hot.

The EU retaliated with a swarm of missiles fired from the further of their two Titans. The light, nimble anti-aircraft ordnance made contact with the squadron of gunships after about five seconds of flight. Five of the Doragons activated their defence systems, the missiles harmlessly detonating against the bubble of electromagnetic shielding surrounding them. Three more were able to sharply bank their craft and break the missiles' lock-on. The last two were not as fortunate, and their craft were hit and went down in flames and hot metal. Twin parachutes appeared from the cockpit of one of them. The other simply hit the ground and exploded.

Sousuke opened a channel directly to the lead gunship pilot and barked an order. "Divert their fire away from us! Neutralize those missiles!"

The gunship pilot affirmed, and Sousuke demanded a status report from the bridge crew.

"Railguns down to fifteen percent charge, Commander. We can sustain fire for another three shots approximately," reported the Weapons officer.

"Shields at fifty-nine percent integrity. Recharging at rate one point five percent per second," Kirov called from the Defences console.

"All generators at maximum output. Current power supply is fifty to weapons, twenty-five to shields and remaining to engines," the Energy officer reported.

Sousuke grimaced. It was slightly less than he would have hoped for, but he would have to make do.

"Cease railguns. Divert power forty-forty to Weapons and shield recharge, twenty engines. Fire a salvo from missile pod one, target the closer of their ships," Sousuke commanded.

"Sir!" acknowledged the Weaponry officer, frantically operating his console. The Titan shuddered as 64 miniature missiles streaked out of individual launch tubes and screamed towards the closest EU Titan. The successive impacts of 64 tandem explosive/EMP missiles, specifically designed for anti-air applications, along with the constant pressure of the previous railgun salvo, was too much for the Titan to bear. Its shields flickered and died.

Sousuke pounced like a tiger. "Missile salvo! Target their engines and lift pods! Charge railguns for simultaneous fire!"

_Imperial Lance _shuddered yet again as another salvo of missiles – only 32 this time round, blasted from its top deck launch pods and wove complex patterns in the air towards the crippled enemy Titan. With each missile impact, the majority of which were located on the Titan's underbelly or aft engines, the airborne fortress shook, the EMP and explosive playing havoc with its propulsion balance.

A distressed report came over the COM. "Commander, this is gunship team! We are taking heavy losses, repeat heavy losses to enemy gunships!"

"Fall back to range of our point defences!" Sousuke ordered. The gunship pilot sent a non-verbal acknowledgement, and on his viewscreen Sousuke saw the remaining five gunships concede airspace and slowly fall back to the _Lance. _Despite their dire situation, the gunship pilots did not turn tail completely, instead affecting a fighting retreat while attempting to shoot down the seven Talons which harassed them.

"Status railguns!" Sousuke shouted.

"At 68 percent charge, Commander! Twenty seconds to ready!"

"Divert power from propulsion and shields to charge, have railguns ready in ten seconds!"

The officer at the Energy console did a double take. "Inadvisable, sir. Our shields have suffered severe damage. We would not be able to recharge them quickly enough."

Sousuke hesitated, and then said, with firm resolve, "Do it." The Energy officer hesitated, and then nodded, keying in the relevant commands which would divert the generators' output power 80 percent to the railguns, leaving their shields with only 20 percent of the power with which to recharge.

The further of the two EU Titans began to fire off volleys of railgun fire from its starboard railguns. Each shot cut a nerve-wracking three percent off the _Lance's _shields, while it regained shield charge at the agonizing rate of 0.8 percent per second.

"Railguns are hot, sir!" reported Weaponry.

"Firing solution! Fire all guns simultaneously at their propulsion pods! Launch half missile pod to strike simultaneously!" Sousuke ordered.

Weaponry frantically keyed his console to calculate the firing times and trajectories needed for such a strike. Three seconds later, missiles fired from the top deck and spiralled towards the EU Titan. As they neared the last fifty metres of flight, the _Lance _lurched violently to the right as all its portside railguns fired at once. The missile explosions peppered the underbelly of the Titan while the surgically precise half-metre long steel/tungsten railgun rounds slammed into its propulsion pods at several times the speed of sound.

The EU Titan rocked from the impacts – and then plunged thirty feet downwards as two of its propulsion drives failed completely.

Sousuke was about to call for a second salvo on it, when the Engineers manning the ground defence cannons swung their aim towards the low target and fired. Explosions erupted across the Titan's top deck, and the combined stress of all the damage was too much. Slowly but inevitably, it fell further and further down before crashing onto the snowy plain below.

The bridge crew cheered as the EU Titan threw up a massive cloud of powder snow and water. Sousuke grabbed a microphone and ordered "Combat teams Alpha through Delta, drop to surface and secure the crash site."

Assault pods shot out of _Imperial Lance's _flanks and vectored themselves towards the hulk of the fallen Titan.

Sousuke didn't have time to follow their progress when Kirov frantically shouted "General! Incoming missiles!"

Sousuke jerked back in shock. His shields were already low, and this salvo might just break them-

"All power to shields, now!"

The order came a fraction of a second too late.

A massive, extended _BOOM _resounded through the _Imperial Lance._

A klaxon blared, and in case its meaning was lost on anybody, a synthesized Russian voice spoke in an eerily emotionless tone:

_Warning, Titan shields destroyed._

Sousuke grabbed a microphone and barked an order into it. His voice echoed throughout every sector of the Titan, heard by everybody on it.

"_Combat teams, stand by to repel boarders."_

The entirety of _Imperial Lance _became a flurry of activity. Soldiers who had a second ago been enjoying some free time in the mess hall or dormitory were now clipping on combat gear and slapping fresh magazines into rifles. A full squad of Recon personnel were busy sapping the corridors with APM mines, while Assault and Support troops threw down Ammo and Medical hubs, IPS shields and Enforcer turrets to create field-expedient pillboxes. Accipiter drones beeped complex sequences of electronic noises as squad leaders calibrated their targeting systems. In the space of five minutes, every defensible position in the Titan was occupied, guns trained on every entrance, and every square inch of space covered by at least two pairs of eyes.

----

It had taken four of those five minutes for Sousuke to come up with a dangerous but potentially lifesaving tactic.

"Energy, reroute power 60 percent to shield recharge capacitors. Do _not _recharge the shields themselves. Maintain 20 percent power to weaponry and engines each. Stand by to dump capacitor charge into shields _only on my mark._"

The Energy officer looked bemused, but he had served Sousuke for the better part of three years. He knew to trust his Commander's insight in times of crisis. So he shook off any feelings of doubt he may have had, performed the relevant operations on his console, and replied "Aye, Commander. Shields recharging at rate three percent per second."

"Sir, incoming boarding craft! Visual on three Shepherd dropships!" Kirov reported from the Defence console.

"Let them come. Order the point defence crew to open fire but allow them to approach." Sousuke replied. He was not calm, but simply projecting the illusion. Inside he had entered the cold state of unthinking calculation, where combat tactics formed themselves inside his mind without conscious thought. In his mind, the next few minutes had already played out – exactly as they were about to in real life.

The three Shepherd dropships approached steadily, their forward chainguns chipping away at the _Lance's _upper turrets. Bullets were ineffective, however, against the turrets' hardened armour. The two Talon escort gunships were more successful with rockets, but they were quickly cut out of the sky before they could do any serious damage.

"Boarding craft at one hundred metres and closing," reported Kirov.

"Steady," was all Sousuke said.

The dropships closed in, coming in low for an actual landing on the _Lance's _exposed rear deck.

Sixty metres…

"Prepare to charge shields," Sousuke said.

Forty…

"Hold…"

Twenty…

A bead of sweat ran down the Energy officer's cheek.

Ten…

"SHIELDS, NOW!"

The Energy officer all but slammed his fist down on the SHIELD CHARGE button on his console. The shield capacitors, which had slowly been absorbing energy from the reactor core charge, now dumped the entirety of their energy capacity into the shield generators themselves. What this amounted to was a jump in the shield integrity from zero to _forty _percent.

Enemy materiel didn't pass shields.

Two of the three Shepherd dropships slammed into the newly charged shield at full speed and all but vaporized. The third was able to apply its airbrakes, slow, and then back off – for all of five seconds, before a barrage of five missiles from the _Lance _transformed it into a flaming wreck which plummeted to the ground.

The impact from the two dropships had reduced _Imperial Lance's _shields to twenty, and Sousuke ordered a half power recharge. The integrity percentage crept upwards at a respectable rate.

The remaining EU Titan didn't seem to want to continue the fight any longer, and it slowly turned tail and fled – all the while pursued by railgun rounds and missiles from Sousuke's zealous Weapons officer. By the time it had cleared their maximum firing range, its shields had been depleted and it was limping on only four of its six propulsion drives.

The _Imperial Lance _bridge crew leaned back in their seats and heaved a collective sigh of relief. Breathless cheers were thrown out by some of the officers, but for the most part everybody just tried to catch their breath.

Sousuke activated the microphone and broadcast through the entire Titan. _"Combat teams at ease. Boarders repelled. Enemy units turning tail."_

"That," Kirov breathed, as soon as he was able to speak, "was possibly the most daring tactic I have ever seen, Commander."

"Something you might have come up with, no doubt," Sousuke replied. Kirov only chuckled in reply, and went back to operating his console.

The Major General didn't have time to relax back in his command chair before an incoming hail came over the COM.

"_Command-class Titan flying Pan-Asian Coalition flags, this is Coalition Army Third Air Patrol under Sector Commander Fedor Spetzir. Transmit handshake protocols, over."_

Sousuke verbally confirmed the request before sending the encrypted handshake protocols over the transmission link – a sort of greeting card which was used to confirm the friendly status of unknown craft.

"_Status confirmed. Please state your crew and intent."_

Sousuke deliberated on what to reply with for a second.

He activated his microphone and answered the gunship pilot.

"This is Major General Hoten Sousuke, Commander of the Coalition Army Command-class Titan _Imperial Lance._ We fought at and took Minsk, and we are your reinforcements."

There was stunned silence on the other end of the COM for a few seconds, before the gunship pilot shakily replied "Stand by for COM transfer, sir."

Three seconds later, Commissar Fedor Spetzir's face appeared on Sousuke's view screen.

"Major General Sousuke. Damn good to have you here, sir. I don't suppose you want me to bother with an escort squadron?"

"That won't be necessary, Sector Commander," Sousuke replied.

"I'm transmitting co-ordinates and a flightpath through our controlled zones which you can follow to COMCENTRAL. That is, unless you'd like to just bulldoze through enemy territory…"

"I dare say my crew need a rest after the long journey, Sector Commander. Ready to receive flightpath co-ordinates.

"Sending now," Spetzir replied "For the record, Major General, welcome to Belgrade."


	15. Chapter 15: Ambush

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 15: Ambush**

In the five days since Hoten Sousuke's fleet had arrived in Belgrade, the war effort had altered substantially.

The PAC soldiers, quite obviously, had taken extremely well to the new addition to their fighting force. Sousuke's men were fresh from their time spent off duty, and still confident from their victory at Minsk. The stories they told the other soldiers – while obviously somewhat embellished – helped to inject some of that confidence into the other divisions stationed at Belgrade, and morale gradually increased as time went on.

Quite apart from the soldiers themselves, the _Imperial Lance _itself was a source of much motivation among the ranks of the Coalition Army. Its steadfast, imposing presence in the skies above served to rally the soldiers, inspiring discipline and tenacity in them. And its presence was not merely symbolic – on the occasions where Sousuke did deploy the _Lance _to the frontlines, its heavy firepower and substantial vehicle deployment capability caused devastation to forward EU outposts. Indeed, there had so far been a record thirteen Titan kills in Belgrade since the beginning of the month. The line of control had been pushed further and further towards the EU's command central.

In stark contrast, the EU themselves found the _Lance's _silent, imposing presence unnerving, and they were intimidated. During the more fierce takeovers of their fortifications and bases, that intimidation was turned into outright terror as highly motivated, ruthless Coalition Army shock troops cut through their ranks and overtook or simply sacked their outposts, all the while with the airborne leviathan pounding them with cannon fire and missiles.

For them, morale was at an all time low.

One man in particular was incensed by the situation – not scared or intimidated, but absolutely furious.

General Emil Nikoli.

"_What do you mean we lost two platoons!?"_ the General all but screamed at the unfortunate Major Gold who had taken upon himself the unfortunate duty of delivering another report of defeat from the front lines.

The Major, however, had served Nikoli for a year – had been part of the original inner circle that had actually planned the defection of the 9th Armoured Corps – and knew that in this kind of situation, one should _never _show weakness in front of the General. It was best to pretend that his anger didn't affect him. So he simply straightened, squared his shoulders, and elaborated:

"Exactly that, General. As you ordered, we dispatched two mechanized units – one of Tiger tanks and another of mechanized infantry – to retake one of our recently overrun forward supply camps. The garrison guarding the camp was able to repel our assault. The tank squadron was completely eliminated. There are some survivors from the mechanized infantry squadron, and one APC remaining.

Nikoli was shocked at the result of it all, but before he could voice any of his feelings, the Major spoke again.

"We do, however, have an advantage."

"Oh? What's that, Major?"

"We managed to intercept a communiqué from the _Imperial Lance _to the _Kastav IV. _One of their special operations teams is planning to raid another of our hangars in nine hours' time.

A wolfish grin spread across Nikoli's face. "Then let's give them a run for their money. Have that hangar stripped of combat materiel and leave only a bare minimum of supplies. Mobilize three squads and order them to that hangar post haste. Tell them that this is an ambush mission."

The Major saluted smartly. "Sir, yes sir!" he snapped, and began to leave the room.

"Major!" called Nikoli.

The officer turned on his heel and asked "Yes, General?"

"Inform the squads that I will be accompanying them personally on this mission." Nikoli added.

The Major was not fazed by this statement. Nikoli often took it upon himself to personally accompany his men out in the field of battle. Usually, it was only on operations which involved ambushes or blitzkrieg attacks, rather than actual fighting.

"Yes sir. Should I accompany the squads myself?" asked the Major.

"No, Major, that won't be necessary. That'll be all, you can return to your post."

"Sir!" snapped the Major, as he turned again and left the room.

----

Four BTR-20 Yastreb dropships soared through the late afternoon sky. Their journey, taken through PAC controlled zones, was uninterrupted – all the better for the occupants inside.

In each transport, five PAC Special Forces Recon personnel performed last minute equipment and weaponry checks. The interior of each dropship echoed with the rhythmic sounds of rounds being hand-loaded into magazines, cocking handles being cycled, electronics being tested and knives being slid into sheaths. Special Forces Recon was all about high risk operations, and each man could afford no mistakes.

As the soldiers inside finally finished their incessant preparation, the dropships neared their destination. The order to drop came through the team-wide COM channel, and each transport disgorged five assault pods from its underbelly – each one bearing a fully prepared soldier. The pods struck the ground and burst open, a steady slamming noise filling the air as each man recovered from the landing and covered the snow-dusted tarmac they had landed on – the exterior of an EU gunship hangar.

Major Ivan Zaitsev raised his Lambert and called to the rest of his team – not over COM, but using his built-in helmet speakers.

"Move in, people! Secure the hangar!"

The Special Forces personnel were like an orchestra in their coordination, two people standing on either side of the doorway into the hangar, while others covered the surrounding area. A third man tentatively tested the door to see if it was locked.

It was not, and swung open easily at the touch. The man who had opened it dived away as the two men flanking the door poked their Lambert Carbines into the doorway and emptied their clips. The rapid cracks of the automatic rifles echoed in the hangar, creating a sound closer to rolling thunder.

As soon as the two men had finished firing, the others entered the hangar in single file, rapidly fanning out to fill the entryway, weapons raised and ready to fire. The hangar was dimly lit, but they had night vision gear on which activated automatically as they entered the darkened room.

They met no resistance.

"Major, this isn't right…" one of them voiced.

"No, it isn't," Zaitsev replied, "Everybody move in further and try to find any supplies."

A fatal mistake, as it had been. A wiser order would have been "Fall back to the dropships and let's get the hell out of here." But Zaitsev didn't, and that would prove to be his undoing.

The hangar door swung shut of its own volition and clicked, indicating that it was now locked. Zaitsev didn't need anything else to tell him he'd walked into a trap.

Four loud explosions resounded from the outside and the Special Forces team knew that their dropships had just been destroyed.

The lights blinked on inside the hangar to reveal thirty soldiers, helmeted and armed, standing on the catwalks above the Special Forces men. While the gear they wore resembled PAC standard issue, it was slightly different – the patches had been replaced with the cougar that was the symbol of the European Union Armed Forces, and their helmets were of European issue.

Ninth Armoured Corpsmen.

And standing in the middle of them all, their leader, General Emil Nikoli.

The Special Forces men's night vision had deactivated as soon as the lights had come on, so they could instantly take stock of their situation. And all of them had come to the same conclusion.

Supremely fucked.

Being faced with a universally hated figure caused one man to do a very rash thing. Glaring at Nikoli, he screamed "You son of a bitch!" and attempted to aim his Lambert Carbine at the General.

The Ninth men on the catwalks responded without mercy, each one firing a three round burst into the Special Forces soldier. The unfortunate man was caught by fire from all angles, and crumpled to the floor.

"That was regrettable. If you don't want it to happen again, I suggest you drop your weapons and put your hands in the air," Nikoli's voice called mockingly from the upper catwalks.

"I seem to recall that you gave your miserable hide to the Europeans, _General. _I'm not inclined to follow your orders," Zaitsev challenged. He had found cover, and spoke in a voice that belied his inner fear. A small part of him noted with a sense of pride that none of his men had lowered their weapons, and instead stood with them trained on the Ninth men on the catwalks.

"I presume you're the leader? Identify yourself, if you please," Nikoli requested.

Zaitsev hesitated, then realized it could do no harm. "Major Gold Ivan Dimitryevich Zaitsev, Coalition Army Special Forces Recon."

"Well then, Major. If you would like to see your men live beyond the next few minutes, then _you _will order them to surrender," Nikoli mocked.

"With respect, the General can go _fuck himself, _because he lost any right to give anybody tactical advice after he _deserted the army," _Zaitsev called, his voice rising. He was deliberately trying to provoke Nikoli, because he knew about the General's quick temper, and angry men often made tactical errors.

"Major, in case you didn't notice, you and your unit are _surrounded. _We can cut you down just as easily as we did your friend lying there in his own blood. Drop your weapons _now!" _Nikoli barked. He was starting to lose it.

Zaitsev ignored him and addressed his next words to the men surrounding him. "Hey, you guys from the Ninth. What _bullshit _exactly did the General feed you that could have made you _all_ defect?"

"Silence, Major! I can have you killed in a second!" Nikoli screamed.

"He tell you the Euros would _win _this war or something? Hey, tell you what, I was in _Minsk. _Sound familiar? It's where we kicked the Euros' asses on their home turf," Zaitsev taunted. Sowing uncertainty and dissent among his enemy's ranks. Even if he died here – which was a very strong possibility – he would have done his damage.

He could tell it was working. Some of the Ninth soldiers had relaxed their aim a little, slightly uncertain. Others were still training their weapons on the Special Forces team with firm resolve. Zaitsev's words hadn't shaken them yet. That was his utmost priority – put his enemy on the back foot, and then maybe, just _maybe, _he could surprise them with an attack and fight his way out of there…

"Major, are you deaf, stupid or do you simply have no regard for your men!? _WE HAVE YOU COVERED! GIVE IT UP!" _Nikoli screamed.

Zaitsev carried on without showing any of his mounting fear. "I just want to ask you guys one more thing. How many of the Ninth were there _before _you guys went over? I kind of recall about a hundred, hundred fifty? You're at ninety-odd now, maybe eighty? What happened to the others? Us losers got them, right?"

"_MAJOR-"_

"And I hear even your new hosts don't think much of you. They figure if you cross one army, you can cross another. Come on, I'm not stupid. 'Filthy turncoats' is what they say, I think…" Zaitsev was actually right on that point – the EU opinion of the Ninth Armoured Corps was not totally positive. Many viewed them with distrust.

The Ninth men were now confused. Many of them had dropped their aim and were looking at each other, trying to decide what to do. If defecting had actually been the right choice at all. They were distracted – their attention on Zaitsev himself, not the other members of the Recon team.

That was what he was after. That was when he made his move.

Special Forces Recon teams had several methods of intra-squad communication. One was through actual audible speech, good for when detailed orders needed to be given out across the entire squad. Person-to-person COM was also available, good for individual orders. They had their own system of hand signals for silent orders.

Zaitsev was using a different system. The status lights built into their helmet displays.

In addition to hand signals, the Recon team had devised specific combinations of lights – comprising red, orange and green – which corresponded to different orders. All through his shouting match with the General, he had been flashing the orange-red sequence, which corresponded to _hold your fire._

What he flashed now was orange-green. Which was light code for _Green light to engage._

Simultaneously and without hesitation, the Recon men on the ground opened fire on the Ninth men on the catwalks. They had been caught off guard by the back-and-forth dialogue between the two team leaders, and a full third of them were neutralized before they processed what was happening and returned fire.

What resulted was not so much a battle as it was a massacre.

Three of the Ninth men moved to secure Nikoli, escorting him out of the hangar through a door that led out of the building from the catwalks. A Shepherd was waiting there, and Nikoli was exfiltrated before any damage could be done to him.

In the hangar, chaos reigned. Cover was sparse on the floor of the hangar, and most of it protected only from one angle of fire, while the Recon men had to deal with three. Zaitsev's team was down six men already, while the Ninth had eighteen of their original 30 still standing.

The Ninth, however, still had the higher ground and advantage of cover.

Two of Zaitsev's men who attempted to open fire were cut down by the men on the upper catwalks. Seeing that they had the advantage, the Ninth men had started to come down, abandoning the catwalks, and were moving through the ranks of fallen Special Forces men, giving each one who was still visibly breathing a dead check – a single bullet to the head.

Zaitsev himself had broken cover to throw a grenade – but as soon as it left his hand, he felt four hard impacts on his torso and abdomen. The grenade sailed from his hands into a group of his attackers, but he himself spun around, crumpled, and hit the floor.

The firing stopped a minute later.

"Pack it up, people. Let's get the hell back to base," ordered the Ninth Lieutenant in charge of the team.

The men obeyed, hauling up their wounded comrades and administering first aid where necessary. The non-medical personnel moved out of the hangar and began to board transports – Shepherd-class EU dropships. As soon as the last man had left, they took off, leaving the hangar and the bodies there behind.

The sun's evening rays painted the sky a blood red.

----

Breathing heavily, his eyes wide with shock and fear, Private Lividenko deactivated the active camouflage on his Recon gear and settled back into visibility.

He was no coward. Once the fight had broken out, he had been the first one to open fire, and had only stopped after his Lambert had run empty. It was only after watching his commander fall that he had decided it would be better to live to fight another day, and he had activated his camouflage and hidden in a dark corner until the fighting had subsided.

But now he had to be sure.

Drawing his Takao service pistol and cocking the slide, he made his way through the fallen corpses until he found Zaitsev lying still on the ground, his weapon on the ground next to him. He checked the Major's pulse, and his heart skipped a beat. He checked again to make sure.

He was alive.

Barely. Lividenko removed the full face helmet over Zaitsev's head to help him breathe easier, then took off his own.

"Major? Blink if you can hear me," he urged.

Zaitsev's eyelids fluttered.

The Private heaved a sigh of relief. "Major, I'm going to give you some oxygen. Stay with me, sir." So saying, he ran over to a fallen Assault soldier – who was quite clearly dead from the large hole in his face – and retrieved his Medical Hub. Opening the Hub up, he began to rummage through its contents.

"Damn it, _damn it, _how the hell do the Medics know what to do with this thing…always figured they just _throw it down _and we spontaneously start _healing…"_ Lividenko muttered under his breath, the combat high and adrenaline causing him to become jumpy.

At long last he found the small canister of compressed, purified breathing air and an associated breather mask. He fiddled with the can a bit, losing a bit of gas as he discovered which port on the tank regulator was the output. Cursing at the blast of air, he screwed the breather mask connecting hose onto the tank's output and placed the mask over Zaitsev's nose and mouth, gently opening the valve to allow the wounded officer to breathe clean medical grade breathing air. The gases contained a small concentration of painkiller which numbed the pain of Zaitsev's bullet wounds. Through sheer luck – and the well designed armour worn by PAC soldiers – of the four bullets which had hit him, only two had penetrated his skin, while the other two were embedded in the ceramic plates of his armour. One of his ribs was broken from the impact.

Dragging the medical hub over to where his commander lay, he rifled through its contents until he found biofoam – a spray can filled with a self-sealing spray foam which could be sprayed on or into wounds to stop bleeding.

His commander stabilized for the moment, Lividenko opened a comm channel to the bridge of the _Imperial Lance._

"_Imperial Lance, _this is Special Forces Recon strike team Delta. Can anyone hear me, over?"

The voice of Major General Sousuke answered him. "Recon, this is General Sousuke. Report."

"General, this is Private Boris Lividenko. Mission failed, I say again, mission failed, operation is FUBAR. Request immediate extraction, over."

"Copy that, Private. Exfiltration squadron is en route. What's your status?"

"Heavy casualties, sir. Major Zaitsev and I are the only confirmed surviving. He's severely wounded. I've administered basic medical, but requesting emergency rescue team be dispatched to our position."

"Copy that, Private. Squadrons inbound, hang tight."

Lividenko acknowledged the General and shut off the COM. With Zaitsev stabilized, he searched the strewn corpses for any of his other teammates who might be alive. Two minutes of fruitless searching went by – the Ninth soldiers' dead check shots had finished off those who still clung to life.

Lividenko was about to stop searching when he heard a groan. One of the soldiers had apparently lost consciousness – judging from the lack of blood on his gear, he had been blown off his feet by a grenade or RDX blast. The Private surmised that he must have hit his head, and everybody else had been too distracted to check if he was dead.

Only this soldier wasn't one of Zaitsev's team.

He was Ninth.

The man shifted again and his eyes slowly opened.

"You alright?" Lividenko asked the man, his tone neutral.

"Ugh…think so…" the Ninth soldier replied, trying to roll over onto his back.

"That's a shame," Lividenko replied, and launched a powerful kick to the man's side.

The soldier groaned in pain and tried to stand up, but the distinctive metallic _snick-snick _of a Takao's slide being cycled warned him to stay where he was.

The barrel of the aforementioned Takao swam into his view. It was pointed at him.

"Didn't dead check us all, did you?" Lividenko mocked.

The Ninth man could only lie there in silence.

Lividenko grabbed a machine gun sling from a downed Support man and bound his captive's hands behind his back, trying the knots tightly to prevent him from working his way loose. With a second sling he tied the man's feet together with slack in the bindings so that he could walk but not run.

He removed the man's EU issue helmet and dog tags. Finding a support soldier's Ammo Hub, he retrieved an EMP grenade and placed it inside the helmet. Activating its timer, he placed the helmet on the ground so that the charge was completely enclosed.

The EMP detonated with a bright flash of blue that shone out of the visor of the helmet like a demon's glare. The helmet's EMP shielding contained the blast – but _inside _the unit, causing its circuitry to completely overload and burn out. There was no way anybody could triangulate its signal, nor could the unit ever be used again without replacing all its components.

The rescue team arrived ten minutes later, four Assault Medical soldiers swiftly moving through the door and rushing to Lividenko's side. They wore subdued gray patches on their right shoulders – the outline of an octagon with a sigma symbol inside. Emergency Medical Rescue.

One of them knelt down by Zaitsev's side and checked his vitals.

"He's stable. He'll be out for a hell of a long time, and he'll need surgery to remove the bullet fragments and set the rib, but otherwise he'll recover. For not being a trained Medic, you've done pretty well, Private."

So saying, the Medic signalled two of his fellows who brought a stretcher over. They gently moved the unconscious Major onto it, then lifted him out of the building into a medical Yastreb transport.

Lividenko turned to the Medic who had assessed Zaitsev. "You have any Support men with you, sir?" he asked.

The Medic nodded, looking somewhat confused.

"With shotguns?"

The Medic raised an eyebrow, but nodded again. Then he asked why.

In reply, Lividenko jerked his chin at the bound and gagged Ninth soldier lying on his back. In an effort to keep him restrained, Lividenko had placed a heavy crate on his legs.

"Oh. Son of a bitch. Yeah, I'll bring a couple in," He snapped a series of commands into his COM, and two very burly looking Support men came in, training their Clark shotguns on the restrained prisoner.

The Medic kept his Voss trained on the Ninth man's body while the two Support men shifted the crate that kept his legs pinned. When his legs were free, they hauled him to his feet and jammed the barrels of their shotguns into his back. He very quickly got the hint and started walking.

"Thank you, sir," Lividenko said to the Emergency Rescue Medic.

"No problem, Private. It's our job, after all," he replied and started to make his way out of the hangar.

"Sir? What's your name?" Lividenko asked. He thought it would be good to know the name of the man who had saved his commander's life.

"Lance Corporal Kasudo Hatusa, Emergency Rescue Team," he clarified.

"You're not attached to the _Imperial_ _Lance, _are you?"

"No. General Sousuke was unable to send a team out. He sent a wide request to exfil one of his squads, we responded. We're under Field Commissar Zhen Choy, _Kastav IV_."

Lividenko nodded as the two of them climbed into a transport. One of the shotgun wielders from earlier was inside, along with another Support soldier who had a Ganz HMG at his feet. The one seated closest to the cockpit was seemingly their leader, an Assault soldier with a Krylov, and he took it upon himself to brief Lividenko.

"Welcome aboard, Private. Sergeant Arkadi Malkov, Field Commissar Zhen Choy's Alpha squad. The _Kastav _is closer to us than the _Lance, _so we'll be landing there first. Hatusa thinks it's best if we get your Major into surgery as quickly as possible."

The transport shuddered as its engines powered up and it began to rise into the air. Shortly thereafter, the rescue team of two gunships and two transports sped away from the hangar and back toward the safe PAC control zone.

The big Support man with the shotgun, whose uniform name tag read TARKOV, glanced at Lividenko and asked "That Ninth guy we captured. You did take his tags, didn't you?"

Lividenko nodded and reached into his pocket, extracting the dog tags he had taken from the Ninth soldier. He held them out, offering them to Tarkov, but the latter shook his head.

"No, no, I was just wondering. You keep hold of them…there _is _a bounty out for these guys, you know."

Lividenko had too much on his mind to think about it. The rest of the trip passed in relative silence until they touched down on the forward hangar of the _Kastav IV._


	16. Chapter 16: Repercussions

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 16: Repercussions**

_PAC Titan Imperial Lance_

_February 7__th__, 2140_

Hoten Sousuke hung his head and swore.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It was supposed to be that he arrived with his fleet in Belgrade, blitzed the enemy front lines, drove them back further than the already present forces could achieve in a week, and with the resulting morale and attacking momentum, carry the Belgrade forces forward to storm the EU command post and force them to flee Belgrade.

What was _not _supposed to happen was one of his squads – his premier Special Forces Recon team no less – was _not _supposed to have been given a mission to liberate combat materiel from an enemy hangar. The enemy was _not _supposed to have been able to somehow prepare an adequate defence against thirty Special Forces personnel, and they most certainly were _not _supposed to be caught in a massacre of an ambush that had left all but two dead and one of the surviving – who happened to be the leader of said team – severely wounded and undergoing surgery to repair several bullet wounds.

One of Choy's men by the name of Malkov had taken it upon himself to deliver the full report to Sousuke, seeing as Lividenko had been too utterly exhausted.

Sousuke had read the report and wondered how many ranks he could promote the Private for his actions, and what commendations he could award. That he had survived what was essentially a slaughterhouse and saved his commander's life was something to admire, but he had also managed to capture one of the traitors from the Ninth Armoured Corps. Sousuke would make sure that if nothing else, Lividenko received his deserved reward and commendation for that. And he would make sure that Sergeant Malkov was made aware of his appreciation too.

The prisoner whom he had captured was being transported to the _Lance _at that very moment. Sousuke would look forward to the interrogation.

----

Orderlies wheeled Zaitsev towards the _Kastav's_ medical wing while Alpha squad and Lividenko made their way to the bridge. Missing from their group was Kasudo Hatusa, who had followed the orderlies to help them with the surgery.

"We'll have to report to the FC first, and then he'll most likely tell us to get some rest," Malkov clarified. So saying, he rounded the corner that led to the bridge entrance, tapped in an entry code, and walked through the open doors.

As was completely ordinary on the _Kastav, _Field Commissar Zhen Choy stood with two of the other bridge crew around a central table. To be precise, a pool table. And they had cues.

"There you are, my good man. Grab a cue, you can have the next shot," Choy said in way of greeting Malkov. He took his own shot, spectacularly failing to knock a striped ball in a side pocket, and sighed. Then he turned to address the newcomer.

"You're Lividenko, then? Good, good…I'll tell Sousuke we've got you back. If you want to get some rest, feel free to use one of the dormitories. Kasugai will show you where they are, he's hopeless at this," Choy said, gesturing to the table and winking at the Support gunner as he spoke. As the two of them left, Malkov neatly sunk one of the solids into a corner pocket, much to Choy's irritation.

Kasugai rolled his eyes. "He might be a bit direct, but he's right. Can't tell one end of the stick from another."

Lividenko only nodded in reply.

"Not up to talking, huh? No problem, I get it. Let me find you a bed somewhere…" Kasugai trailed off as he strode down the corridors of the Titan towards the dormitories. Other soldiers greeted him as he walked past, which he responded to but kept short for the sake of his charge.

Eventually they found a dormitory which seemed to have an empty bed. Kasugai pushed the door open to reveal four soldiers sitting on the floor playing cards and eating what looked to be fried chicken. Of course it would be Echo squad they'd end up with.

"Kasugai, what're you after, then?" asked their leader, Kazuo Tanaka.

"You have a spare bunk in this dorm? We picked up one of Sousuke's men, he looks like he could use some sleep," Kasugai explained, stepping into the room.

Tanaka quickly took stock of the surrounding bunk beds. "That one's free," he said, gesturing to a bunk in the corner, "I usually use it because I can't be assed to climb up a ladder, but it's no problem. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't, but…Boris Lividenko," the Private introduced himself. He made to salute, but Tanaka shook his head and took his hand.

"For one thing, we're off duty. For another, nobody salutes anybody on the _Kastav _unless it's Choy. We all know each other too well."

"So…you don't know the Field Commissar too well?" Lividenko asked, trying to make conversation.

"Of course we do. He just likes the ego trip," Tanaka replied. "If you want to join in the game, feel free. Although I dare say you'd prefer to get some sleep right about now, eh?"

Lividenko nodded, and only pausing to remove his combat boots and armour vest, he crashed onto the lower bunk.

----

"Extent of his injuries?"

The doctor who asked the question was wearing a disinfected surgical gown, his voice muffled by the face mask he wore. His hands were shrouded by surgical latex gloves, also disinfected. Over his eyes, he wore a special surgeon's eyepiece, essentially a set of glasses with magnification lenses that could flip up and down as needed. Behind him was an airtight door, beyond which was an airlock, and beyond the airlock was a sterilized, disinfected operating room in the centre of which was a bed. Around the bed were seven other similarly dressed surgeons, and on the bed lay the still form of Major Zaitsev.

Kasudo Hatusa, still dressed in his grey and definitely not disinfected combat fatigues (and thus not allowed to enter the operation room) read off a mental checklist as he replied:

"Broken rib from a bullet impact, two penetrating shots. He's been foamed, but the bullets are still inside his body. You need me to standby?"

The doctor shook his head "We've got enough people in there. Thanks for the help, Hatusa. This guy would have been done for if you hadn't got to him."

"It wasn't me. I just brought him here. It was the Recon guy who patched him up."

The doctor raised his eyebrows slightly. "Really. He's either very lucky, or has a very good instinct. Either way, we'll take it from here."

Hatusa nodded and gathered up his gear, leaving the team of doctors alone with Zaitsev's unconscious body.

----

_Imperial Lance _may have been a large Titan with many luxurious facilities, but one of those facilities was a brig. And that part of it was not very luxurious.

A shimmering red energy field closed off the doorway to a small cell containing a bed, toilet and sink. There were no other furnishings, and the floor was cold titanium battleplate armour.

Instead of what were known as _offensive shields, _which vaporized whatever came into contact with them, the cells had shields similar to those found in Titan corridors, which were defensive in nature. Anything without PAC IFF tags was repelled rather than destroyed to discourage captured spies from killing themselves.

Killing himself was not on the mind of the captured Ninth Armoured Corpsman who sat in the only occupied cell. Nor was escape, since he knew it would be impossible at this moment in time. For the moment, he was simply resigned to his fate, whatever it might be.

A soldier strode through the cellblock door and moved over to the guard's desk.

"I'm here for the prisoner. Sousuke wants him taken to interrogation," he explained.

"Yeah, heard about that. Let me just power down the shields," the guard replied, crossing over to a control panel. With a few taps on the touchscreen control, the red barrier between the cell and cellblock dimmed, a few motes of light surviving slightly linger before winking out.

"Let's go, Niner," barked the soldier who had come for him, using his shotgun to emphasize the point. The Ninth Corpsman was already on his feet and complied, walking ahead of the soldier towards another section of the _Kastav._


	17. Chapter 17: NightFlight Takedown

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 17 – Night-Flight Takedown**

Vasily Kobarov liked night-time patrols. He found them relaxing in a strange sort of way – despite the fact that he was patrolling the very edges of PAC controlled zones. For that matter, however, Kobarov was always at ease behind a gunship's controls. Flying felt natural to him.

He certainly needed the calming effect of flight. Kobarov had of course heard of Zaitsev's ill-fated mission, and felt sadness not only for him but also for the four less fortunate pilots who had been flying the Yastreb dropships, two of whom he knew very well. He knew that they would not have liked to die that way – taken out on the ground instead of while in the air. The fact that Zaitsev had survived, however, had brought him great relief, and he had been granted permission by Sousuke to visit the Major onboard the _Kastav IV _once his patrol run was finished.

He banked his Doragon to the right, brought it to hover, and then spun horizontally 180 degrees. Pushing the throttle forwards, he accelerated the vehicle with its nose slightly up to gain some altitude.

"Nothing on the radar, Wing-Com," his gunner, Senior Airman Silver Dmitry Votypka reported.

"Nothing on mine either. I'm going to do another pass over the main road. Swap to thermal scans," Kobarov ordered.

"Thermal imaging online. Go ahead, Wing-Com."

Kobarov brought the Doragon into a medium speed forward flight while Votypka panned the quad-machinegun turret, scanning the ground below in thermal imaging. Heat signature detection would pick up variances in ambient heat in different areas, and display them as a colour spectrum on the gunner's screen. Vehicle engines and self-propelled projectiles would show up as high heat traces, even if for some reason the radar didn't find them. Humans, however, didn't generate enough body heat to register a difference on the scanner that could be detected at gunship altitudes. A cluster of people might make a difference, which was why buildings often showed up as warm.

Kobarov flew eastward, towards the monorail line. Twenty minutes passed without anything other than Votypka's every-five-minute "all clear" report. His patrol shift was slated to end in half an hour's time. Truth be told, he couldn't wait – he very much wanted to be sure that Zaitsev was safe.

"Wing-Com? Bring us to hover, I've got something on the thermals."

Kobarov wanted to groan in frustration, but he knew it wouldn't be setting a very good example to the junior airman. So he very reluctantly pushed thoughts of Zaitsev out of his mind and brought the Doragon into a hovering position.

"Yeah, definitely something here. I've got heat traces…long line, smaller at one end, bigger at the other. Bank us right a little, would you?"

Kobarov complied, while Votypka continued looking at this new contact.

"Got them…looks like some kind of EU convoy. They must have radar jamming, that's why we didn't catch them. Transponder scans are blank, so their IFF tags are off. Must have something to hide. Hang about, I have eyeballs on target…calling two Bandits up front, Groundhog behind…followed up by – _oh you have got to be fucking kidding."_

"What? What is it?" Kobarov demanded. The slightly panicked way that Votypka had finished – or rather not finished – his analysis was worrying.

"It's a big motherfucking Goliath IFV. Prototype EU vehicle. Those things are primed with so many freaking guns it's a wonder they can haul it anywhere. Motion mine dispensers, machineguns, auto-grenades, scatter guns – that thing's a goddamn ground version of a Titan. We're fucked if they're fielding those against us."

Oh. That wasn't good.

"Then we take it down. Prime the TV missiles and prep to fire on my mark. You hit the Goliath, I'll take out the front car to block them," Kobarov ordered.

"Holy shit, Wing-Com, you've got serious balls…okay, unlocking missiles…"

----

Maxim Kosarkov sprinted along the monorail tracks, silently shadowing the EU convoy. On account of the Goliath and the desire to maintain cohesion, they were moving very slowly, slow enough that Kosarkov could get ahead of them.

He was about to rappel down from the monorail line and place RDX charges when he saw the incandescent propulsion gases from a gunship above. Their patterns matched a Doragon gunship. He cursed. If that gunship fired, his cover would be blown. Fumbling for his communicator, he opened a channel to them, not pausing in his breakneck pace.

"Coalition Air Force gunship patrolling eastern sector of Belgrade, this is Lance Corporal Maxim Kosarkov, Saboteur under General Miyamoto Takiguchi. I am following the Goliath. Strongly recommend that you do not open fire, I repeat, hold your fire. Please respond, over."

He prayed for a reply in the form of words and not TV missiles.

He got it.

"_Saboteur on the ground, this is Wing Commander Vasily Kobarov, Air Patrol under Hoten Sousuke. We have the Goliath in our sights and are aware of its capabilities. We have full weapons capability. Why should we hold fire?"_

----

If the warning was legitimate, it hadn't come a moment too soon. Kobarov had just been about to send a streak of rockets at the leading Bandit. He waited impatiently for the saboteur's reply.

"_Wing Commander, I have been aware of this convoy's arrival for several days. I have planned a trap to ambush them and destroy the Goliath. If you open fire you will endanger this operation. I request that you either stand down or follow my instructions if you wish to assist in the operation."_

Kobarov didn't quite know how to respond to that. He'd been itching to take down this monstrous vehicle and now this…Kosarkov (whom he very much outranked) was saying he'd been thinking about it for days. Then again…he was a soldier just like the man on the ground, and he had a duty to fulfil. Personal glory was of second priority. He didn't want to think it, but it was what Zaitsev would have done.

"Lance Corporal Kosarkov, we hear you. Katana Three standing by for your orders."

----

Kosarkov heaved a sigh of relief, as he slowed down to a light jog. As he uncoiled a rope and attached it magnetically to the monorail's line, he gave Kobarov a quick briefing on his plans.

"Wing Commander, are you scanning the area on thermals?" he asked.

"_Yes. They do not appear on radar or transponder scans," _Kobarov replied.

"Turn off your thermals, sir," Kosarkov said.

"_Done," _was Kobarov's reply.

"Can you see what appear to be two glowing blue panels on the side of the Goliath?"

"_Yes we can."_

"Those are its armour repair units. There are two on each side of the vehicle, four in total. As long as those are active, its armour will regenerate. They must be destroyed first before we attempt to damage the vehicle."

"_I understand."_

"I am well ahead of the convoy. You must follow alongside them. There are two caches of RDX along the road ahead. They will take out the lead Bandit and the Groundhog – or at the very least damage both of them. When I tell you, you must take out the two regenerators on the left side of the vehicle. Port left. One TV missile will do the job. It may take up to four rockets. Confirm, over."

"_Understood. Pursuing vectors."_

----

Sergeant Major Christopher Keggers, better known to his teammates as "The Wolf", of the 4th Mechanized Division was on edge. Had been on edge for the entire ride.

While the vast majority of the men assigned to this post were Engineers, Wolf was one of the four Medics of the convoy. That command had chosen to assign four medical personnel to the mission was a bad sign. It meant that they had not only anticipated, but expected, that things could go very wrong.

Transporting a ridiculously expensive and effective prototype war machine was not something that you wanted to go wrong.

The Sergeant Major drummed his fingers on the grip of his rifle. Unlike ordinary Assault soldiers and medical personnel, Wolf preferred to use a Lambert carbine. He'd shot and killed a Pan-Asian scout several months ago and kept the rifle as a sort of trophy. While his kill record had been better with the standard issue SCAR 11, Wolf preferred the feel of the Lambert, claiming it handled more ergonomically.

In any case, his choice of weapon was not as pertinent in the current situation as was his skill with Medical Hub and defibrillator. And in that case, Wolf was an excellent medic. While his medical skills were comparable to anybody else, it was his bravery that set him apart. Wolf had been known to run across tank firing lines to rescue a wounded comrade, or dive into orbital strikes.

As he spun the turret of his Bandit to the left, his driver spoke up.

"Hey, Sarge. You see those jet exhausts up there? Enemy gunship. Think they know we're here?"

"Shut up, you idiot. Don't even think that. We're jamming radar, we're blind to transponder, and we're going too slow for acoustic sigs. We're _invisible, _get it?"

"Yeah…unless they've got thermals," the driver warned.

"If they had thermals, they'd have fired by now, and we'd be dead. Only reason we're not dead is because they can't see us or they don't want to shoot us. In either case, we're still alive. So would you cut it out with the doomsaying?"

"Yeah…sure. Sorry, Wolf."

The Sergeant gripped his Lambert a little tighter after thinking about thermal scanning.

----

Kosarkov placed the last RDX cache on the road and sprinted off up the slope which led to the Belgrade Commerce Building. Coalition Army personnel referred to it as "The Monument" or "The Statue" variously, due to the large modern art statue which dominated the courtyard of the building.

He crouched behind the solid stair wall, a Pilum rifle in his hands and another at his feet. He wouldn't have time to reload if he wanted to do this right. Kobarov's appearance and willingness to follow his plan were both fortunate developments, and he intended to make use of his newfound gunship support.

Activating his helmet comms, he hailed the Wing Commander again.

"Wing Commander, this is Kosarkov. RDX caches are planted on the road. When I activate them, you must destroy the two regenerators on the portside of the Goliath. Simultaneously if possible. I will take care of the ones on the starboard side and inform you when they are neutralized. When that happens, you must focus all of your firepower on the Goliath itself. Direct TV missiles to strike the topside of the vehicle."

"_Understood," _Kobarov confirmed,_ "ETA until detonation?"_

"Roughly ninety seconds. Prepare to fire."

----

"You heard the Lance Corporal, Votypka," Kobarov urged. "Unlock the TV missiles – again – and prepare to fire when the bright lights start flashing."

"Yes sir, Wing Commander!" Votypka replied, and flipped the switches to disengage the locks on the TV missiles. He swapped his display from gun camera to missile camera, showing a view from the nose of the first missile to be launched.

The Doragon cruised along, keeping pace with the convoy.

----

The lead Bandit edged closer and closer towards the cache of RDX. Keeping the Pilum shouldered, Kosarkov drew his detonator remote and removed the plastic button cover.

Closer…

His thumb came to rest on the button. He felt its hard, unyielding plastic surface.

Closer…

He applied a very slight thumb pressure, infinitely small. Not enough to even move the button a little.

Closer…the lead car in range of the first cache…

He flexed his fingers on the handle, relieving some of the tension in them.

Closer…now the lead car over the first cache…

He forced himself not to press the button, the pad of his thumb compressed against the red plastic; he had to wait until the lead car was over the second cache.

Closer…the second car over the first cache…

The button yielded very slightly under his finger, not yet actually being pressed.

The first car's front bumper now in line with the second cache…

Seconds left, less than seconds, trace amounts of time.

The first car over the cache, but a slight miscalculation for which he cursed himself, the Groundhog was not completely over the first cache.

Unfortunate delay, but necessary, the Groundhog was a more dangerous target, and the blast would severely damage the Bandits anyway.

His thumb tensed, then he forced it to relax. The Pilum was heavy in his hands.

The Groundhog over the first cache, the second slightly under the bumper of the second bandit.

Now.

His thumb applied pressure, and the detonator button yielded, fully depressing into the remote.

----

From his Doragon, Vasily Kobarov saw two fireballs, about three or four metres apart from each other, erupt from the ground. The blast momentarily illuminated the night road, and he saw the destruction they caused. The Groundhog was all but destroyed, its flaming wreck melding with that of the second Bandit which had been overturned onto the Groundhog's roof by the off-centre blast.

He also saw the Goliath in real light, a terrifying behemoth of a vehicle, well deserving of its biblically-inspired name. The regenerator panels glowed blue.

"You know what to do, Votypka! Fire at will!"

The Senior Airman chose to acknowledge with actions rather than words. Pressing a thumb trigger on his joystick, he sent a TV-guided missile streaking at the panel on the left of their viewpoint. Kobarov, for his part, directed a stream of six rockets at the other regenerator.

When the explosions cleared, it was plain to see the lack of a blue glow on that side of the Goliath.

----

Maxim Kosarkov sighted the Pilum on the leftmost panel and fired. Not pausing to check for impact, he discarded the Pilum, shouldered the other one which was already loaded, and fired at the other panel. The impacts were three seconds apart, and when the explosions from them cleared, the panels on the right side of the Goliath were completely inactive.

He ducked down behind the barrier, opening the Pilum's reloading port, dropping the old clip. Slamming a fresh single-round box into the heavy anti-materiel weapon, he broke his cover again and fired at one of the Goliath turrets. It didn't fly quite straight, however, and it impacted on the vehicle's flank rather than the turret.

Abandoning the Pilum, Kosarkov sprinted over to where his vehicle lay parked in the shadows and climbed into the turret. Pausing briefly to aim, he loosed a single TV missile at the Goliath, orienting it to face the heavy, bulky vehicle. He dived off the turret before the actual impact, and he heard the explosion as he ran. He noted with a sense of satisfaction and relief that Kobarov and his gunner were also busy harassing the Goliath from high up with their rockets and missiles.

The reason he had chosen to place the ambush here was due to the Rorsch railgun which had been set up with a clear view of the street. Climbing in, he focused the turret's crosshairs directly on the Goliath's grenade launcher and fired. The railgun shook as a high velocity magnetically propelled slug screamed out of its barrel and impaled the Goliath turret, rendering it useless.

----

It had taken all of three seconds for Wolf's situation to go from "I have a bad feeling about this" to "I fucking told you I had a bad feeling."

He wasn't dead. Not quite, anyway. Had he actually fallen unconscious from having his Bandit flip end over end and come to rest upside down, he might have died. Instead, he'd managed to summon enough strength to crawl out of his flaming wreck of an FAV, Lambert in hand, dragging his medical gear with him.

Not that it made a difference. He certainly couldn't shoot down a gunship with his current gear. The best he could hope to do was find shelter from the ambush, wait out the attack (and lose the Goliath, damn the Pan-Asians), and try and rescue anybody who might be left alive after the missiles stopped flying.

With that in mind, Wolf crawled over to what was formerly the foyer of a building, now a bombed ruin, and took refuge in the debris as the convoy was torn to pieces. Courageous though he may have been, he wasn't as foolish as to charge into an impossible situation.

----

Kosarkov pointed a designator towards the Goliath and snapped a brief order into his communicator – not to Kobarov, but to General Takiguchi onboard the _Groznyj IX. _The request was for an EMP strike, and seconds later a bright blue bolt of energy fell from the skies and struck the Goliath, disabling its offensive weapons and mobility. Kosarkov didn't waste time firing a Rorsch or Pilum at it, instead choosing to request a followup Orbital Strike. The perfectly cadenced whine and crash of the falling high explosive warheads started up five seconds later.

"_Kosarkov?" _The voice in his communicator was Kobarov's up in the gunship. _"Should we continue engaging?"_

"Stand by, Wing Commander, and assess damage after the strike has been completed," replied the saboteur.

"_Copy that."_

The pounding shells harassed the Goliath for ten seconds more before Takiguchi reported that the strike was over. The dust cloud it had kicked up began to settle.

Amazingly the Goliath was still functional. Most of its armour plates had been blown off, and only one of its machineguns remained in working order. Kobarov seemed to reach the same conclusion, and before Kosarkov could do anything, the Wing Commander and his gunner had loosed ten rockets and a TV missile at the crippled vehicle.

Another full load of ordnance took it out of the picture completely, the once hulking, indestructible behemoth now a twisted heap of flaming scrap metal not distinguishable from the wreckage of the Groundhog right next to it.

"Goliath destroyed, Wing Commander. Mission accomplished," Kobarov confirmed.

"_Copy that. Can we assist you further?" _Kobarov asked.

"Negative, Wing Commander, this was my only objective. Thank you for the assistance. RTB."

"_Understood. Glad we could help."_

Kosarkov swapped the channel to Takiguchi after the Wing Commander had signed off.

"General Takiguchi, this is Kosarkov. Mission accomplished. Target completely destroyed," he reported.

"_Excellent work, Kosarkov. Return to base immediately," _Takiguchi replied.

"Copy that. RTB at all speed."

So saying, Kosarkov climbed into the driver seat of his vehicle and powered up the hover drives. The Hachimoto shuddered and floated steadily two feet above the ground, and Kosarkov sped off back into safe territory.

----

"Holy freaking crap, Wing-Com. Some patrol, huh?"

Votypka was breathing heavily, and his hands shook from his previous death grip on the control joystick. His controls were slick with sweat, and he wiped his hands on his flight suit to try and get rid of the moisture.

For his part, Kobarov took several deep breaths as the adrenaline in his blood slowly began to thin out.

It was common practice in piloting circles to keep a record of kills made on each run. It was also common practice to brag about those kills when off duty and socializing with other pilots. Kobarov, so far, had had a very distinguished career. His best record was having taken out two Tigers, three Reisigs, a Groundhog and a Shepherd all in one run without rearming.

He wondered whether one Goliath broke that record.

When the time came for the next informal pilot's gathering, he would keep silent until someone asked him how many kills he had made. He would then reply "one" and wait until the snickers subsided.

Then he would clarify.

And revel in their shocked expressions.

"Lock the missiles. I'm going to touch down on the _Kastav IV. _After I disembark, take the gunship home," Kobarov ordered.

"Copy that, Wing-Com," Votypka replied, flipping the missile safety switches to ON.

The Doragon banked away from the monorail line, flying east.

----

SNAFU didn't quite describe the situation. FUBAR came slightly closer, but still failed to capture the essence of the situation. This was an example of Murphy's Law at its finest. Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong, at the worst possible moment, in the worst possible way and with the worst possible results.

Wolf Keggers crawled out of the ruined foyer he had been hiding in and slowly walked towards the flaming wreck of the convoy.

There wasn't much left. The Goliath was completely destroyed, nothing inside it could possibly have been alive. Its shell flickered with fire from the ignited fuel tanks. The Groundhog has seemingly melded with the Bandit on top of it to create some kind of twisted wreckage that wasn't all too different looking than the Goliath. The only vehicle which had not been completely obliterated was the one he had escaped, the lead Bandit of the convoy.

He approached it carefully. It had been overturned and severely damaged by the RDX and subsequent impact. Its roof had been partially caved in, and the rear bumper and axle had been blown off. Pieces of burning metal and composite material were everywhere, they melted small holes in the soles of his boots if he walked on top of them. Approaching the overturned vehicle, he began to search for any sign that the other two occupants might have survived.

He checked the driver's seat and found the driver still there, sitting in his seat even in death. His neck had been snapped when the vehicle had landed.

Damn it.

The other one had been riding on the cargo section, where they would normally store ammo crates, but there was a chance he might be alive…

Wolf moved around to the back section. The man was still there, his lower torso trapped under the overturned rear section of the Bandit. He didn't look alive either. His spine looked to be snapped.

The hell with it all.

Wolf staggered away from the wreckage and started walking.

It was going to be a long way home.


	18. Chapter 18: Intel

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 18: Intel  
**

Word travelled fast in an army. It was supposed to. That was the hallmark of good intel.

European "intel" had confirmed that the Goliath which had been shipped to Belgrade to aid their war effort had been ambushed and destroyed by "an attack force consisting of one gunship and an uncertain number of other attack elements", as their reports stated. Reports which, upon reading them, General Spencer Harrison of the 4th Mechanized Division had thrown off his desk in frustration and then gone on to swear a two-minute unintelligible string of curses. The hell he was going to win this war with just Reisigs, Tigers and Groundhogs.

Asian "intel" had confirmed that "a secret European convoy transporting a single Goliath IFV was intercepted and destroyed" by "V. Kobarov, WCdr, II-COMDIV; and M. Kosarkov, LCpl, X-COMDIV". Or rather, that was what the report read by a conversely very pleased Arkadi Petrov said. Petrov had proceeded to award Kobarov an Aircraft Service Ribbon, and _attempted _to award the saboteur, Kosarkov, a Gold Explosive Gallantry badge, which he flatly refused. Petrov had had to settle for giving him a Distinguished Combat Efficiency pin, an award he felt was woefully inadequate.

The same intel had reached the ears of Miyamoto Takiguchi, who was exulted to be shown his top saboteur's qualities.

It had reached the ears of the mercenary and his two-man Titan crew, all of whom had told Kosarkov that he was welcome to join their ship any time.

It had reached the ears of Hoten Sousuke, who had personally commended his pilot for his selfless assistance of a fellow soldier.

It had also reached the ears of a certain man of the Ninth Armoured Corps who languished in a cell in the brig of the _Imperial Lance._

The prisoner had been horrified when he had first heard the news. To him it had proved more than anything that his defection had been a mistake.

And he had rectified his mistake.

In a fit of hysteria he had requested a meeting with Sousuke, upon which he had broken down and revealed all of the Ninth Armoured Corps' tactical information which he had known about. A double cross, as it were.

----

"Gentlemen, welcome. I believe the matters which we are to discuss in this meeting will be vital to the war effort, so I beg your attention."

So saying, Hoten Sousuke walked around the large holographic projection table which dominated the command room of the PAC Groundside Command Bunker. Far in the rear lines away from the conflict, the Command Bunker served as a rear base of operations to store vehicles and infantry, as well as a place with better facilities for tactical planning that a Titan.

Along with Sousuke, present in the room were the two other Generals commanding operations in Belgrade – Nobu Sasaki and Miyamoto Takiguchi. They stood at ease on the opposite side of the table to Sousuke, as the latter tapped some controls on the table.

A holographic map of Belgrade appeared floating over the table. The areas controlled by the PAC glowed blue, while red coloured the areas under EU control.

"This is the current state of affairs in the city. Control is almost even, however we hold a slight majority. This has increased slightly ever since the European IFV was destroyed – and I was never able to congratulate you for that, General Takiguchi, so while we are on the subject, you and your saboteur are to be commended."

"Thank you, General. The same to your pilot," Takiguchi replied.

"With that aside, let's examine our situation here. The Ninth Armoured Corps have outposts at these locations."

As Sousuke spoke, he tapped buttons on the table's control panel. Green triangular point markers appeared over five locations on the map – one of which was inside the blue zone.

"As you can see here, one of the Ninth's bunkers is already under our control – the Belgrade Commerce Building. Further away from our sphere of influence is this one here – in fact our actual main objective. Belgrade's central monorail hub."

One of the markers on the map glowed blue, and the area it marked expanded until the entire table was dominated by the monorail station's image.

"This hub connects the four major monorail lines which span Belgrade. The Ninth Armoured use this hub as a logistics facility to transport their infantry and vehicles to other bases and to frontlines."

"So destroy the lines?" Sasaki half-asked, half-suggested.

"In an ideal world yes. But the Supreme Commander wishes them to be preserved. No, I think we have to engineer a more…subtle…solution," Sousuke replied.

At Sousuke's tap, the map changed back to the wide view of Belgrade. A different area glowed orange briefly before the map zoomed into it.

"This is another Ninth base, this one an armoury. It's also unique in that it houses a power plant for the main hub. I believe you can see where I'm going with this?"

Takiguchi grinned. "I assume this armoury and its generators would have to be dest- I mean to say, _disabled?"_

Sousuke nodded. "I believe that an EMP blast of sufficient size will destabilize the generators enough to remove power to the rail lines for at least 48 hours. During that time, the hub will run on auxiliary power – enough to power its own systems, but not the monorail line."

"How sufficient is sufficient, Major General?" Sasaki asked.

"And therein lies the problem. Suffice to say that were we to coordinate all five of the Belgrade EMP cannons on this facility and fire them all at once, we would not succeed in disabling the facility for any longer than three hours," Sousuke replied.

Sasaki's face turned ashen, and Takiguchi's eyes widened. "Then…_how?" _asked the former.

"Like a Titan, this facility is shielded against EMP blasts. Our only chance is to detonate sufficient EMP payload inside the facility to disable its shields – after which we will fire a tandem EMP strike against it. We would need someone to infiltrate the facility and detonate the initial charge from inside," Sousuke explained.

Takiguchi smiled knowingly "And I assume you already have the perfect candidate for this…inside job…in mind?"

"Oh, I think we're thinking of the same person…"

----

Kosarkov looked like a child who'd had his favourite toy taken away. The comparison, though, was literal on quite a few levels.

"But…what do you mean _no _RDX?"

"It's how it has to be, I'm afraid. We can't have the structure of the facility permanently damaged," Takiguchi explained. The two of them sat facing each other at Kosarkov's desk in his private quarters aboard the _Groznyj IX. _The meeting with Sousuke had finished about an hour ago, and Takiguchi had wasted no time following up with the briefing.

"General, what you're asking is nigh impossible. I'm not saying I can't do it, I've done far harder things than infiltrate an armoury…it's a question of how the hell do I drag _that much _EMP payload with me?"

"I don't know. I confess that you'll have to figure that one out yourself. We've got the individual explosives being prepared right now, they're about the size of an RDX DemoPak. Problem is you'd need about two hundred of them to get a blast big enough…but once the shield's down we'll EMP nuke the whole place."

"Comforting…I can always pretend the blue flashes are orange, I suppose…" the saboteur trailed off, and his eyes came to rest on a half-disassembled object lying on his bed.

And his eyes widened.

"General. I need you to get me some intel. I need the dates and times of all upcoming EU arms shipments, as well as the planned routes and destinations of each. If we're lucky, we can take out the armoury in one swoop."

Takiguchi nodded. "I don't know what you have in mind, Maxim, but I'm damn sure this will be a good one. You sure you don't want that Sergeant's promotion?"

"Very. Just get me that intel, and if it turns out good I'll have the job planned out in a day."

Takiguchi smiled, and the two saluted each other. As the General left the room, Kosarkov crossed over to his bed in three quick strides and picked up the object which had caught his eye earlier.

It was the half disassembled frame of an EU SCAR 11 rifle. Its internals had been removed, leaving only the trigger group and the receiver. It was just one of many projects Kosarkov had been working on.

His design had been to rewire the firing circuits of the SCAR's trigger to instead activate a small cache of RDX, sized so that it would mimic the weight and feel of a normal SCAR, inside the rifle. The soldier who had attempted to fire, of course, would have received a very unpleasant surprise.

The plan at the time would have been to plant the weapons among EU ranks and simply allow them to do their damage.

But just maybe…and since they didn't need to be _fired _as such…

Kosarkov threw open a storage cupboard in his room and dug out a few power tools and set to work modifying the SCAR frame for the new EMP charges.

Perhaps it wasn't to be European soldiers spontaneously exploding, but a deployed design is never a wasted concept.


	19. Chapter 19: Tactical Planning

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 19: Tactical Planning**

For the week after the three Generals had met, the Coalition Army's rear line had become a hotbed of activity.

Soldiers who had been rotated out of the front lines could expect several hours of helping to prepare for the new initiative that was Sousuke's Operation Patriot – the drive to strike at the Ninth Armoured Corps' home base and eliminate Emil Nikoli. EMP explosives had to be made, vehicles repaired and planning done for the operation.

Maxim Kosarkov had been working tirelessly for the past seven days, going on as little sleep as possible. As soon as a newly made batch of EMP charges was given to him, he would tirelessly modify captured EU weaponry to accommodate the hidden explosives. On the subject of weaponry, of course, European arms had to be captured…and to that effect, fighting had increased in frequency and intensity.

Not only was the saboteur busy hiding charges in rifles, but he also had to come up with his own plan to infiltrate the compound that housed the armoury and power plant. It was a job that would have been much easier if he had the intel reports that he'd requested, but for now the best he could do was formulate vague plans for different areas of the compound and where best to place the charges.

Miyamoto Takiguchi had put out a wide request to the intel network for the dates of the EU's arms shipments, and every day he would check to see if any reports came in that were significant. The other Generals were doing the same.

Much to his chagrin – although he told Vashkin in private that it was not as bad as he made it out to be – the mercenary's small and fast Titan had been commissioned as a storage vehicle for the boxes of modified EU weaponry that Kosarkov and the Engineer personnel helping him were churning out. His vehicle would also eventually be Kosarkov's personal transport and mobile base of operations for the entirety of Operation Patriot.

Arkadi Malkov and his squad had been following their standing orders to "secure any European weapons which remain in working order following an engagement" to the letter – or at least as much as they could carry – although they didn't understand why. Choy had also been revealing attack plans for the upcoming operation to them – an operation which they would have a major role in.

Ivan Zaitsev had meanwhile recovered from his surgery, much to Sousuke's relief and exultation. He had been awarded a Purple Heart for his injury in the line of duty, and had expressed a deep desire to play an active role in Operation Patriot, subtly giving the hint that he would like to be the one to shoot Nikoli himself. Since none of his original unit save Lividenko remained alive, Zaitsev had gone to take command of a Special Operations team under Nobu Sasaki which had recently lost their leader in a takeover operation.

Ten days after the Generals had met, Takiguchi received a message from Sousuke, the transcript of which read:

_General Takiguchi,_

_Intelligence has just sent me this report which I believe will be of use to you and your saboteur. This is a list of European Arms shipments in Belgrade which are scheduled to occur in the next month, and their planned routes._

_Be advised though that this report is not confirmed and that some of the entries may be of questionable accuracy. Regardless, I believe the report will help your saboteur. Please pass it on to him at the earliest opportunity._

_For reference, the EU refer to the armoury outpost as "Sierra-013". I have indicated instances where it is referred to._

_Regards,_

_MGen H. Sousuke, II Command Division_

The attached report read as such:

_PRIORITY INTELLIGENCE REPORT_

_CLASSIFICATION LEVEL DELTA_

_SENT TO: MAJOR GENERAL HOTEN SOUSUKE_

_REQUESTED BY: BRIGADIER GENERAL MIYAMOTO TAKIGUCHI_

_SUBJECT: EUROPEAN UNION ARMED FORCES EQUIPMENT SHIPMENTS TO BELGRADE_

_TRANSCRIPT:_

_LOGSTART_

_PLANNED BELGRADE ARMS SHIPMENTS FEB/MAR 2140:_

_02/02/2140 – 3__rd__ Air Corps – Airbase Kilo-235 (AMsl J. Hargreaves) - TITAN_

_04/02/2140 – 4__th__ Mechanized Division – Outpost Echo-076 (LtGen S. Harrison) – TITAN_

_05/02/2140 – 3__rd__ Air Corps – Airbase Sierra-588 (FCdr G. Wilson) - GROUND_

_08/02/2140 – 9__th__ Armoured Corps – Outpost Foxtrot-213 (Gen E. Nikoli) – GROUND_

_15/02/2140 – 4__th__ Mechanized Division – Outpost Bravo-165 (FMsl A. Locke) - GROUND_

_20/02/2140 – 4__th__ Mechanized Division – Outpost November-433 (LtGen S. Harrison) – TITAN_

_24/02/2140 – 3__rd__ Air Corps – Airbase Delta-429 (AMsl J. Hargreaves) - GROUND_

_**27/02/2140 – 9**__**th**__** Armoured Corps – Outpost Sierra-013 (Gen E. Nikoli) – TITAN**_

_29/02/2140 – 4__th__ Mechanized Division – Outpost Bravo-165 (LtGen S. Harrison) – GROUND_

_**30/02/2140 – 9**__**th**__** Armoured Corps – Outpost Sierra-013 (Gen E. Nikoli) – GROUND**_

_3/03/2140 – 4__th__ Mechanized Division – Outpost Echo-076 (LtGen S. Harrison) – GROUND_

_7/03/2140 – 9__th__ Armoured Corps – Outpost Foxtrot-226 (Gen E. Nikoli) – TITAN_

_13/03/2140 – 3__rd__ Air Corps – Airbase Victor-754 (AMsl J. Hargreaves) – TITAN_

_LIST TRUNCATED (We cannot wait this long – HS)_

_LOGEND_

It was easy enough to parse the list's descriptions. The numbers at the start were dates, from February 2nd to March 13th. The name which followed was the name of the command group which had requested the shipment – the three which were currently operating in Belgrade. Next was the detail of which of their bases the shipment was to be delivered to, and which officer had requested the shipment (generally the overall commanding officer of that group with some exceptions). Finally was the remark on how the shipment would be made, either by Titans or by a ground convoy.

Kosarkov knew that there was only one choice which he could have taken. That made him nervous – it was always better not to allow your enemy's movements to determine your own. But only two arms shipments were planned for that base, and he was not prepared to attempt a hostile takeover of a Titan transport.

The only one he could have taken was the one on the 30th, a ground convoy – 3_0/02/2140 – 9__th__ Armoured Corps – Outpost Sierra-013 (Gen E. Nikoli) – GROUND_

_----_

With the date of the first strike set, activity again increased in pace. EMP charges were being churned out and stuffed into rifles by the hundreds. The small Reconnaissance Titan was being loaded to near its maximum capacity with the weapons. And with the time frame made clear, the complementary tactical plans for the other involved combat teams began to be formulated by Choy and Spetzir – both of whom had committed their men to aiding in the operation.

Kosarkov, for the first time, would have to fulfil a leadership role for a short time. Ambushing the convoy was to be the work of him and five Recon Snipers Spetzir had assigned to him. At the moment, all six of them were gathered in the mercenary's Titan going over attack plans.

"So, two of you will be on top of the ice wall, ready to take out the convoy lead and rear trucks. Intel puts the number of vehicles at four. The other three…?" Kosarkov trailed off, expecting them to answer.

One of the snipers replied "At its base, hidden in the snow. Ready to hit the middle of the convoy."

"After which…" Kosarkov prompted.

"Alexei brings the Titan down onto the ground and we haul all these crates of EMP guns into the trucks," Grigori Sarov answered, glancing over at his fellow crewman.

"Correct. Convoy drivers…"

"Will be you, me and Sarov. The third truck we blow up," replied the mercenary.

"_I _will blow it up," Kosarkov specified, "at least _one thing _has to go up in flames. The reason for the destroyed vehicle being…"

"We don't have enough uniforms to disguise four people. We can also use it to explain the battle damage the trucks will suffer during the ambush," one of the snipers answered.

"Precisely. Once the guns are loaded…"

"You'll take the front car. I'll be in the second, with Kalashnikov Guy in the last one," Vashkin replied.

"Oh, that reminds me," Kosarkov said, "you can't bring the AK."

Anyone could have heard a pin drop in the resulting silence.

"I don't think I heard you right…" the mercenary muttered, "say what?"

"No AK. And for the purposes of the operation you might want to change your look a bit. Get a shave, trim your hair. EU are pretty strict on the regulations. Remember, we want to look authentic," Kosarkov explained, not taking notice of the growing dark look in the mercenary's eyes.

"If it were anybody else…" he said eventually, before releasing a long breath.

----

"Great. While Spetzir's guys are off doing a diversion, we get to be the cannon fodder."

Nobody really contested Yuri Tarkov's assessment of the situation, but there were quite a few who were more enthusiastic about the prospect than he was.

As it stood, combat squads Alpha through Foxtrot under Zhen Choy had been selected as the main assault unit which would stage their attack on the actual monorail hub once the power plant had gone inactive. A small cadre of crack Special Forces personnel – only five, among them Ivan Zaitsev – had been selected as the second wave. Their job would be to enter when the fighting had become chaotic and knocked the EU into disarray, and it was down to them to eliminate the leadership figures among the Ninth Armoured.

"So, our assault will rely on ground transports covered by one of Sousuke's gunship squadrons. We have around 50 men in total. We're not going in without support from heavy armour, so make that three Battlewalkers and Five tanks. 16 of you can go in on those vehicles. Your job will be to eliminate any armoured defences they have in place, clearing the way for the transport vehicles. Volunteers for the Walker team?" Choy recited.

Around 15 soldiers from the assembled crowd raised their hands, or stood up, or made some other indication that yes, they believed they would be useful to the mission effort behind the controls of a Battlewalker. The vast majority were Engineer personnel, with a few Support and Assault men thrown in.

Choy selected six of them – Engineers all – to be the Battlewalker crew. As a bonus, they were all members of Foxtrot squad, the combat engineers who maintained the _Kastav's _systems and formed Choy's premiere mechanized squad.

"Thought it might end up like that. Tank corps?" Choy asked.

Around seven people volunteered.

"Alright, all of you, but I want the tanks filled – drivers _and _gunners. Anyone here think they can point a machine gun in the right general direction?"

Arkadi Malkov raised his hand. "I'll volunteer myself and my two Support men, chief."

"What about your medic?" Choy asked.

Hatusa spoke up. "I'll attach to any squad that needs or wants another medic, sir."

"Well, I suppose that's settled. The rest of you will take the transport vehicles. Whenever possible, remain with your squads. You know the attack plans. General Mobilization happens on the 30th. Good luck, everybody."

----

Special Forces had their own traditions, especially among the leadership ranks. Many of them were quite macabre, but considered perfectly normal to the hardened veterans.

Ivan Zaitsev sat with four other Special Forces commanders – himself being the third most senior of them – around a small table. A sheet of paper lay in the middle of it, with the names of the seven highest ranking officers of the Ninth Armoured Corps written on it.

"Well then, gentlemen. Bounties. While it's a pleasure in its own right to shoot these bastards a new one, we'd all like some form of incentive to do it, so come on then…" one of the commanders began.

Zaitsev was first to respond. Unsheathing his knife, he gripped it firmly with blade pointed downwards.

"Thirty credits to the man who makes the first kill. Twenty to whoever does it with a knife. Twenty to each of you if I make none," he recited. As he finished speaking, he slammed his knife into the table, impaling the paper.

Another commander drew his knife and continued. "For the first kill, fifty. Ten for each of the others, but a hundred to the man who takes Nikoli's head!" Following suit, he too slammed the knife into the paper.

The third commander to speak up was one of Nobu Sasaki's finest Special Forces teams. "It's the last kill that wins the mission. Whoever makes the last kill, have fifty from me." His knife, too, impaled the sheet of paper.

The fourth drew his blade and declared "Keep good count of the kills you make. For whoever has the most when it is all over will take eighty from me." His knife thudded into the table.

The last – and most senior of them, a crack commando under Miyamoto Takiguchi's command, drew his knife and said "To Nikoli's killer, a hundred. To whoever draws first blood, fifty. To whoever makes more than one kill, sixty, and add ten for the third and onwards." He drove his knife into the paper exactly where the words _Emil Nikoli _were written on it.

The five commanders leaned over the table and grasped the handles of their knives with their left hands. With their right hands, they saluted, before jerking the knives out of the table and re-sheathing them.

Takiguchi's commando peeled the paper off the table, careful not to tear it where the knives had cut through. He folded the paper and tucked it into a pocket on his combat harness.

"And if any of you should die, we'll forfeit your debt."


	20. Chapter 20: Opening Volley

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 20: Operation Patriot – Opening Volley**

_February 30__th__, 2140_

The small Titan slowly cut its forward thrust and began to descend slowly downwards onto the top of the ice wall. Powder snow kicked upwards in clouds which melted and crystallized as the Titan touched down onto the ground and its propulsion drives went dark. Shortly afterward, three assault pods burst from its right flank and vectored over the cliff edge, crashing into the street below. At the same time, another five people – three in EU uniforms, two in snow-white camouflage garb – emerged from the Titan's interior and stood on the aft deck. A ramp extended down to the ground, and they disembarked as a group.

Kosarkov keyed his radio and spoke a brief order. "Snipers, report in."

"Ground team taking positions," replied the voice of one of the snipers, who had rode the assault pod over the cliff edge Kosarkov now stood facing.

Good. They were almost ready, and the convoy was not due to arrive for another twenty minutes. Enough time to fully set up.

The two snipers on the top of the cliff moved to take their designated positions, each of them bearing powerful Zeller-H rifles. Due to their closer proximity and greater need for rapid fire, the ground team were using Park 52s – less powerful, but with more shots in a single magazine.

Kosarkov removed a pair of high-power binoculars from his belt and scanned the street below, where the arms convoy was supposed to pass by. As he watched, the mercenary came up behind him, dressed in European combat gear and carrying – much to his disgust – a Turcotte Rapid SMG.

"Anything?" he asked shortly.

"Not for another twenty minutes, as far as intel goes," Kosarkov replied, not removing his eyes from the lenses of the binoculars.

The mercenary didn't seem to be satisfied with that and keyed his radio. "Vashkin. Call in a local area Sat-Track on this street. Best to know where our convoy is," he ordered.

"_Gotcha. Calling now…"_ Alexei Vashkin replied. Keystrokes and electronic beeps could be heard in the background as he spoke.

The line went silent for a few seconds as Vashkin called in the orbital satellites to scan the area.

"_Alright, I see them. They're about fifteen minutes away," _he clarified.

Kosarkov had been listening to their chatter, and keyed his radio again. "Snipers, be ready. ETA fifteen minutes. Lock and load."

Rapid, successive acknowledgements came in, and the saboteur felt his determination set in. His hands clenched and unclenched.

"Sarov, bring the guns to the cargo bay. I want the transfer to happen as fast as possible," Kosarkov said.

"Sure thing," Sarov replied, jogging back up the Titan's ramp to drag the crates of EMP-modified weaponry to the front of the cargo bay.

The soldiers waited in their positions for the next ten or so minutes, having no last minute preparations to take care of. The cold wind swirled powder snow across their faces, blowing up a haze that would cover them from view, but would not – thanks to the snipers' scopes – restrict their own vision.

It was eleven minutes before one of the snipers broke radio silence.

"_Control, this is sniper element Stinger, we have visual on contacts."_

Kosarkov quickly replied. "Copy that. Wait until they are within established parameters. Co-ordinated shots. Hit the front and end of the convoy first."

"Understood."

Switching his channel, Kosarkov now spoke to Takiguchi.

"Command, this is Recon. Commencing Operation Patriot…now," he reported.

Hardly had Takiguchi replied before the snipers reported in.

"_Control, immediate. This is Echo, first vehicle in range."_ The snipers had assigned themselves code names based on their position along the street. Alpha was the one that would be furthest away from the convoy, while Echo was the closest…and the first to spot them.

"_Echo, Alpha. No shot, hold fire. I'll hit the first one,"_ Alpha replied.

"_Copy, Alpha."_

The convoy of trucks slowly approached the strike zone. Four of them – large ones with 14 wheels and wing doors on the left side of their containers. They drove at around the speed of a Groundhog APC, and it was a long, nerve-wracking wait before Alpha broke the silence.

"_This is Alpha. I have a shot on the lead."_

"_Echo, I have a shot on the rear."_

Kosarkov had been listening silently, but now he gave the go-ahead.

"All open fire."

Two near-simultaneous _BOOMs _of Zeller fire tore through the silence of the frozen plain. Through their scopes, the cliff-positioned snipers saw the windows of the trucks crack and their drivers heads' jerk sideways from the force of a heavy, armour-piercing sniper round.

From far below, the quieter cracks of Park rifles resounded – four shots. Then silence for a few seconds before doors were opened and rapid staccato sputtering noises of Takao pistol fire.

"Convoy dead," reported a sniper on the ground.

It was such a clinical, calculated approach to battle. Sniping tended to detach a soldier from the actual emotions of combat – especially for the more accomplished snipers. The chaos of battle did not affect them – _they _created it. They were the ones who instilled the panic among enemy ranks.

"Everybody back on board. Vashkin, bring the Titan up as soon as we're on," Kosarkov ordered.

"_Engines hot. Ready to move,"_ Vashkin replied. The five men on top of the cliff sprinted back up the Titan's ramp, and it immediately rose into the air, slowly moving forwards until it was clear of the ice wall. Allowing some space between the road and his LZ, Vashkin brought the Titan into a descent again, touching down in the shadow of the wall.

The truck drivers were definitely dead, their corpses having been pulled out of the trucks and dumped by the roadside after being dead checked. The trucks themselves had been opened up and their cargo was hastily being offloaded by the snipers who had been on the ground.

Everyone in the Titan began to drag the crates of sabotaged weaponry out of the Titan and loading them into the trucks. The actual EU weaponry was either left by the roadside or loaded into the mercenary's Titan. Rather than loading them individually, two people worked on each vehicle, dumping crate upon crate of SCAR rifles, Bianchi machineguns and Moretti Sniper rifles – all of them with potent EMP charges hidden inside them – into the truck. Their frenetic pace paid off, as it took ten minutes of heavy lifting to load up all the trucks.

"This is my favourite part," Kosarkov muttered to himself once they had finished loading, and as he crossed over to the truck that they had not loaded with any EMP charges and attached a few DemoPaks onto its container, driver seat and underneath one of the rear axles.

"Clear the area!" he shouted, as he himself sprinted away from the vehicle.

He pressed the detonator remote and a deafening thunderclap resounded through the otherwise silent street. Pieces of burning metal flew in every direction and the truck itself seemed to simply vanish in a cloud of flame and smoke.

The three men in EU garb jumped into the trucks and drove away towards the Ninth Armoured Corps' armoury outpost.

Kosarkov took a moment to make a progress report. "Command, this is Recon. Vehicles secured, charges in place."

"_Roger that, Kosarkov. Proceed according to mission objectives. Assault teams are on standby," _Takiguchi's voice filtered through his helmet speakers.

Kosarkov switched the channel to the one that kept the three drivers linked up. "All right, people. Coalition forces know not to hit this convoy, and EU are expecting us. So keep cool and act like we're meant to be here, got it?"

"This is child's play. I broke into an arms development factory once by hiding _underneath _a truck…" the mercenary trailed off.

"You know the way, right, Max?" Sarov asked.

"Sure thing. I memorized a map route," Kosarkov replied.

The three vehicles slowly trundled along the street, while behind them, five PAC snipers climbed aboard the mercenary's Titan and took off, their job done.

Operation Patriot was fully underway. The next few hours would be down to Kosarkov and his stealth talents – although stealth was something of a misnomer. The reason Kosarkov had selected Grigori Sarov and the mercenary for the mission was because unlike any of the other personnel he could have chosen, they were the only ones who spoke English, which would be necessary to stand a chance at blending in with the EU.

"So let's go over the plans again, people. I do the talking at the base checkpoint. Once we're in?" Kosarkov prompted. As a way of getting into the habit for the mission's purposes, he asked the question in English, and demanded that all their conversations – even amongst each other – be done as such from now onwards.

"We drive over to the armoury building and offload the guns," the mercenary replied.

"_Buildings. _There are more than one, and spreading out the blast effects will be the best way to ensure total disabling of the facility," Kosarkov specified.

"Buildings. While you guys load the guns, I'll sneak round the back and disable one of the exit doors. If we don't jam one open, they'll lock down when the place loses power…and then we'd be fucked," the mercenary replied.

"Got it. Then, once we've blown the charges, we break out using the jammed door on foot…why are we not driving the trucks out again?" Sarov asked.

"Because they'll have been fried by the EMP," the mercenary reminded none too patiently.

"Right. So once we're out of there, how do we get back to base?" Kosarkov asked. He knew the answer, but just wanted to be sure everyone else did too.

"There's an airbase about a klick and a half away. EMP won't reach that far. We can commandeer a Shepherd dropship from there," Sarov replied.

"Good. I think we've got it now, people. Just remember, _stay cool. _We've got ID and a reason to be there," Kosarkov urged.

"No sweat, boss. Come on…let's make some pretty blue lights," the mercenary replied.

Kosarkov could only wish it were to be fireballs instead.


	21. Chapter 21: Subterfuge

**Comrades in Arms**

**Chapter 21: Operation Patriot - Subterfuge**

For a simple armoury and generator compound, the place was heavily guarded – much more so than would normally be necessary. A wall ten metres high and topped with electrifying energy shields surrounded the compound, broken only by checkpoints which had the approaching road covered with Rorsch MK-S8 railgun turrets. If one were to fly over the compound, one would see the roofs of the buildings dotted with another form of defence – the Rorsch Kz-27 flak turret. As one might expect for a facility which was home to a division of the Ninth Armoured Corps, heavy vehicles were parked in the facility's garages – Tiger tanks, Reisig Battlewalkers and Groundhog APCs. That there was no Goliath to be seen was due to the fact that European High Command had not, despite Emil Nikoli and Spencer Harrison's insistence and pleas, been willing to risk another of the expensive, heavy vehicles being destroyed before it could even be deployed in combat.

As they approached its intimidating walls, Sarov voiced an opinion that must have been on all three of the infiltrators' minds.

"Some setup they have here…are you sure this is going to work?"

"This is no time to be intimidated. You're Iron Legion, this is child's play. And for all our sakes, speak English," Kosarkov reprimanded.

"Got it," Sarov replied in English, his voice firm.

Kosarkov switched the channel and spoke to Takiguchi – the last time he would do so before blowing the charges.

"General, this is Infiltration. We've reached the base. Going radio silent," he reported.

"_Roger that. No further transmissions. Good luck, Infiltration," _Takiguchi's voice replied.

Kosarkov cut the transmission and applied a little more pressure to the accelerator. Slowly, and every second worried that the EU might suddenly realize that he was not supposed to be there and fire the railguns on him, he approached the checkpoint.

Finally reaching the barrier unscathed, he leaned out of the window space – because there was no window, they had smashed some of them to account for the battle damage – and spoke to the guard on duty.

"Arms shipment. Requested by General Emil Nikoli for Outpost Sierra zero-thirteen," Kosarkov said in his usual German accented English.

"You're on the list all right…aren't there supposed to be four of you?" asked the guard as he swept his gaze along the line of trucks to see if there was a fourth one.

"Damn right there were. Bastard Pancakes got the other guy in a hit-and-run with a Pilum. You mind letting us through? We're all kind of shell-shocked from the whole thing," Kosarkov asked, giving off the appearance of being exhausted but struggling to remain alert.

"Looks like you had a damn hard time," the guard said, glancing at the shards of broken glass which were still stuck in the window frame. "Go on in. You know where the armouries are?"

"We'll manage. Thanks," Kosarkov replied, sighing with relief as the guard lifted the barrier – although to him, it sounded simply like the driver was tired.

Kosarkov drove the truck through the checkpoint, the others following close behind. The guard didn't question the other two, and shortly afterward the barrier lowered again behind them.

"Follow me. I know where the armouries are," Kosarkov said, using the truck's radio rather than their helmet radios.

"Lead the way," Sarov replied.

They drove the trucks through the gridlike road system of the compound, until they came to the first armoury. The three of them tapped buttons on the driver console which opened the side-doors of the containers, and hopped out.

"Alright, guys. Let's get these guns stocked up," Kosarkov called, hauling a container of guns out from his truck. Sarov walked over to the armoury door and locked it open so that they could carry the crates in easier.

The three of them began to methodically transfer the crates of weaponry from the truck's container to the interior of the armoury. While Kosarkov stood inside the truck's container and offloaded the crates, the mercenary and Sarov carried the offloaded crates into the armoury, moving back and forth. A passing EU soldier offered them assistance some time later, but they declined, having almost emptied that truck.

"That's the lot of them. There's three armouries in this compound, so let's make it one truckload for each, yeah?" Kosarkov said.

"Sounds good. No sense driving all of them, though. Why don't you go park this one somewhere," Sarov suggested, indicating the truck they had just unloaded, "and ride with us over to the next armoury?"

"Good idea. Let me go park it somewhere out of the way," Kosarkov replied, jumping into the empty truck and punching its ignition button. He carefully moved the vehicle from the side of the road to a nearby covered parking space, flanked on either side by Groundhog APCs.

The mercenary and Sarov had already started their engines by the time he got back, and Kosarkov jumped into the passenger seat of the mercenary's truck.

"So which way do I go?" asked the mercenary, as he gently applied pressure to the accelerator.

Kosarkov directed him as he navigated the compound, with Sarov close behind. Eventually they came to the second armoury building. Kosarkov was about to open the truck's cargo door, but the mercenary stopped him.

"No. Johansen's truck, not this one," he muttered quietly, using the fake name that was on the ID card Sarov held.

"Why?" Kosarkov asked.

"This one's right next to the generator room. There are more guns in his truck. We should focus the EMP here," the mercenary replied.

"Right," Kosarkov agreed, seeing the logic in the suggestion. They radioed Sarov to open his truck's cargo door, and again began to offload the crates of guns, this time the mercenary staying on the truck, while Sarov and Kosarkov shuttled the crates into the armoury.

"I'll go park this truck somewhere else, and then get the door," he said once they had finished transferring all the crates of hidden EMP charges. Sarov and Kosarkov nodded, and they parted ways.

The mercenary strode away from the parked truck, hauling an ammo crate with him. Definitely nothing to be suspicious about. Following Kosarkov's map and using the armoury they had just sabotaged as a landmark, he made his way over to the perimeter wall opposite where they had entered.

Unsuspected by any of the other EU personnel – some of whom actually assumed he was lost and offered to help him – he found the back door. It was actually located on the corner of the eastern wall and the northern wall (the main gate having been the southern wall). Appearing nonchalant, he tapped the open button for the door, and after hearing its electromagnetic bolts retract, pushed it open. Making sure there was nobody around to witness him, he kicked the ammo box into the doorframe so that it prevented the door from closing. He tested the door to make sure the ammo hub was secure, and was just about to walk away when a clear, authoritative voice rang out.

"What are you doing over there?"

He straightened up and turned in the direction of the voice. An EU soldier – no, an officer by the looks of it – had seen him.

When they got to appropriate conversation distance, the officer asked again.

"Well? What's going on here?"

The mercenary had already been preparing his excuse, and with the calm expertise granted by his years in espionage, replied,

"Asheron Locke, sir. Level II technician. There's something wrong with this door here…if you close it, it doesn't open again unless you power cycle its systems. I propped it open so that I could work on it, and I was just about to call a guard to keep watch while I check the power supply."

The officer softened a little – the story seemed perfectly reasonable. But there was still a minor breach of protocol to be addressed.

"That's fine, Locke. But next time you have to hold a perimeter door open for whatever purpose, you bring a guard detail _with you, _not summon them afterwards. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir, I apologize. It won't happen again," the mercenary replied.

"Be sure that it doesn't, Locke. I'll summon a guard detail here," the officer said severely, turning away and removing a field radio from his belt.

The mercenary's eyes widened in shock. No. No. Not good.

The officer lifted his radio to his mouth-

-while behind him, unseen, the mercenary sprang forward, knife drawn-

-the officer was about to speak-

-when suddenly an arm wrapped around his neck and he felt something very strong hit him in the fleshy part below his left jaw bone. The officer was horrified when he discovered that it was a knife, and that the arm holding it belonged to the technician called Asheron Locke – although it obviously wasn't Locke, and if his name actually was Locke, he was definitely no European Union soldier, and several other thoughts which all crossed his mind as his vision swam and he slumped in…somebody's…grip…

The mercenary keyed his radio.

"Max? Tell me you're done loading up," he said, trying to convey the urgency in his voice.

"_Ash? What's going on?"_ Kosarkov asked.

"I just killed one of their officers. No time to explain. He was going to call a freaking guard. Get the hell over to the exit now!" the mercenary hissed.

"_We're done loading. On our way,"_ Kosarkov affirmed.

The mercenary was about to heave a sigh of relief when a very loud klaxon started blaring and several red alarm lights began to flash around the base.

"Oh crap…how the-?" the mercenary muttered to himself, and then caught sight of the officer he had killed. A keychain was in his hands, on the end of which was a black plastic remote. A personal alarm.

Crap.

Bringing his Turcotte SMG up, the mercenary fired two shots. One hit the officer's hand and shattered the alarm, the other hit the officer in the head.

The mercenary strode over to the officer's body and relieved him of his beret, the standard orange-brown colour that was the same as the patches on the shoulders of normal soldiers.

"Sharp," he commented. Then looking down at his Turcotte, "horrible piece of crap."

He kept hold of the "horrible piece of crap", however, in case any EU decided to come looking. He was about to shoulder the gun and check its sights when a thunderous electronic buzzing noise filled the air and his eyesight was assaulted by a tremendously bright flash of blue that seemed to colour the very air.

The klaxons abruptly stopped.

* * *

Far away in the bridge of the _Imperial Lance, _Aleksandr Kirov jerked. For the purposes of the operation, he was in charge of co-ordinating the commander's assets and watching visuals.

"Whoa. _Whoa_. Power surge, right where the generator plant is. I think they did it!" he exclaimed, as a section on his viewscreen lit up bright blue.

"Co-ordinate with the other Generals. Fire all EMP cannons," Sousuke said from behind him.

"Sir!" he affirmed, before activating the communication systems.

"All Titans, this is _Imperial Lance. _Transmitting co-ordinates for EMP strike. Ready to fire on my mark.

"_Groznyj IX, copy that," _Takiguchi responded.

"_Kastav IV, EMP hot," _Choy confirmed.

"_Rising Sun, ready to fire," _General Sasaki replied.

"_Divine Wind, waiting for mark," _Fedor Spetzir finished.

"Firing in three…two…one…_fire!" _Kirov barked, pressing the appropriate button on his EMP console.

* * *

"About damn time!" the mercenary shouted as a large truck came into view around the corner of a building. Sarov jumped out, while Kosarkov swerved the vehicle dangerously, blocking off the road they had come from. He, too, leapt from the driver's seat and sprinted over to the jammed perimeter door.

"Move! That's won't keep them there forever!" Kosarkov shouted. The mercenary took the hint and dived through the small doorway, while Sarov drew his Bianchi and indiscriminately sprayed the truck that barred the EU from them as a deterrent.

Kosarkov reached the door just as bullets started to ping around them. He made it through the door safely, but just as Sarov was about to follow, a gunshot caught him in the back of the knee, and another to the other ankle.

"NO!" the saboteur screamed as he tried to haul Sarov through the door.

"Forget it! There's no time! GO!" Sarov shouted back.

"I'm not leaving you behind here!" Kosarkov barked.

"_Yes you are, _saboteur. That's an _order," _Sarov growled. Shoving Kosarkov away with his foot, he pulled the ammo hub which held the door open towards him. The door clicked shut and locked.

"No…" Kosarkov gasped, staring in shock at the door.

"Come _on,_" the mercenary barked, hauling him away, "we've got to get to that airbase, double time!"

Kosarkov tore his gaze away from the door and ran after his comrade.

Grigori Sarov dropped the half-expended magazine from the Bianchi and loaded a fresh one from the ammo hub he had opened up. Aiming it at the corner where he knew the EU were going to emerge from, he waited. With great difficulty, he had also set up an IPS shield and an Enforcer turret next to him.

A soldier rounded the corner gun up, but Sarov was quicker even while wounded, and sprayed the Bianchi at him. Reverting to his native Russian, the doomed Iron Legionnaire shouted "Eat lead, you bastards!"

More Europeans rounded the corner, this time not just gun up but gun firing. Bullets pinged around him, but still Sarov held down the Bianchi's trigger, round after round slamming into targets with only the precision that year after year of intensive training in the hard Iron Legion corps could grant. The Enforcer sentry was also doing its job well, and since Sarov had linked its ammunition reservoir to a belt in the hub, would keep firing long after he was overwhelmed.

At least, that was what he hoped, as a cylindrical object he recognized as a frag grenade sailed in an arc towards him. To his credit, Grigori Sarov never stopped firing, not even as he closed his eyes and waited for his end to come.


End file.
